Missing You, Are You Missing Me?
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Fifth - and final - book in my TGIL series. Rob's POV of "Missing You". Contains dialogue from book.
1. Chapter 1

Okay. Whoo-ee. Got a lot to say here, so bear with me, please. First things first. Standard warnings.

**New readers:** this is the **fifth** story in a **series**. My "The Girl I Like..." series (TGIL) is all of 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU in Rob's POV. This is the rewrite of _Missing You_, which means that there were four prequels (and a one-shot), one each for the first four books. If you know the series well, you can just start reading here, but I would advise going back to the beginning and reading from there. It'll be a lot more fun for you/make more sense with some repeating jokes/etc. The first one is called _The Girl I Like Was Struck By Lightning_.

Next: Yes, this title **is** breaking my normal format, but I think it's appropriate, seeing as _MY_ was originally written both at a later point than and in a different tone than the rest. Thank you for all the people who participated in the voting for this title, and special thanks for **x Aazeen x** at MCBC, who came up with it in the first place.

Now that that's all taken care of, a couple notes to all the people who have been waiting so long for this story: Hey, guys, I am SO sorry. I have a veritable ton of excuses, ranging from lost internet/broken computer to being sick/having no free time; but the bottom line is that I made you wait forever, and I've VERY sorry. Trust me. So sorry. I'm trying not to make this A/N **too** long, or I'd elaborate more, but feel free to make voodoo dolls of me. Only... not, 'cause I really don't want to break a leg.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Hi._

_How's it going?_

_Long time no see._

_Hey, I need a favor… _

_Jess, I'm madly in love with you and I swear I never cheated on you, please, please, please come back to me?_

Okay, I admit, I should have _known _that there was no way I'd be able to plan what to say ahead of time. But I tried. I ran through a million things in my head, tried to picture all the different scenarios (most involved a slammed door), all the things that I could and couldn't do. I just didn't _know_, though. How could I? Until I saw her again – really saw her, in person, as opposed to in photos – I wouldn't be able to predict my _own_ reaction, let alone hers.

And yet, somehow, in every single one of my imagined scenes, I hadn't pictured this.

The room the door opened onto was full and loud, with a TV blaring, two guys shouting at it, and some girl way in the background saying something in a loud voice. I mean, it was a pretty nice room, but you could easily tell that it was currently just _too full_.

And in the front, standing holding the door, was Jess.

Jess. I hadn't seen her (in person) in about a year, not since she'd broken up with me. Which didn't really count as _seeing_ her. Really, it had been two years since we'd even really spoken, so I honestly didn't know what to expect.

But Jess still looked the same, sort of. I mean, she still had the same short hair, the same face, even the same clothes – and she looked just as good as ever in them. I mean, she was _hot_. From her hair, shorter than mine, like always, to her sneakered feet. Yeah. I noticed she was wearing sneakers. That's because Jess managed to make them look hot. She just did. I could go on, but, you know, I'm just not gonna start. Any more than I already have, anyway – but I could still tell that she'd changed. The changes were invisible, but I was all too aware of them, seeing as if they had never occurred, I wouldn't have spent this past year very unhappy. Very.

Now, I'm not gonna say that I'd rather Jess had never gone out and helped with the war – after all, she saved a lot of lives, and I'm not _that_ selfish – and preferred that she stay home with me and never let that invisible change occur. Really. I'm not.

I will, however, freely state that Cyrus Krantz, the FBI agent who got her into the whole mess? Yeah, I hate his weaselly black guts.

"Jess," I said, addressing the owner of that name for the first time in far too long, "is this a bad time?"

She stared at me, shocked. I guess I can't really blame her. I would be shocked, too, if some girlfriend from a year or two ago just randomly showed up at my door, after I'd moved out of state, and asked if it was a bad time to talk.

God, Rob, you were thinking about this for hours, and you blurted out, "Is this a bad time?" _Idiot_.

In the background, one of the guys yelled, "Ask him if he can break a fifty," without looking over, apparently thinking I was some sort of delivery-boy. I wondered who the two guys were. I couldn't see their faces since the couch faced away from the door, and could only hear their voices.

Please let them not be boyfriends. Please no.

"Make sure he remembered the hot-pepper flakes. They forgot last time," the girl's voice called, and I remembered that the previously termed Bitch, also known as Jess's best friend Ruth, was living with her. I'd learned this from Doug, who for some reason, had actually believed me when I'd told him about the circumstances of the reason for the break-up.

See, there's this girl. Woman. Whatever. She has this car that frequently breaks down (just bad handling, it's not like it isn't a perfectly good car), so she's coming in relatively often, and, well, she's not Mensa material, is all I'll say. She's also very excitable, blonde, and has really big… you know. Boobs. It's kinda awkward for all of us mechanics who have girlfriends or wives or whatever, because whenever someone successfully fixes her Mercedes, Nancy gets very excited and kisses them (although, _sometimes_ she doesn't – generally when it's one of the older or more homely guys). Of course, since she's pretty, a lot of the single guys really like to be the ones to fix her car.

Unfortunately, that day it was my job, and I'd just finished, and she had jumped forward and kissed me. That must have been what Jess saw. I mean, I didn't even know she was there. At the garage, _or_ in town. I only found out when I stopped by at the comic shop to buy a Spider-Man and chat with Doug for a bit. But, she can't have been there long, or else she would have seen me push Nancy away.

"Nancy," I'd said, "We talked about this. I have a girlfriend." And we _had_ talked about it, last time I'd fixed her car.

"Sorry," she said, smiling. "I just get so excited!"

I really wasn't that mad. I mean, Nancy might have seemed bad, but she was really actually a pretty sweet girl. Just flaky, dumb, and sort of slutty.

But nice.

Anyway, when I visited Jess's house later that afternoon, I was obviously pretty excited. I'd had some big plans for that evening, really big ones that I don't specifically want to get into right now. But Jess hadn't reacted the way I expected.

Yeah, to say I was _surprised_ when Jess told me to get the hell off her property (I could practically see a rifle held threateningly in her hands) – well, that's probably the definition of _understatement_.

I mean, the Jess I knew, would _never_ believe I'd cheated on her, right? Okay, yeah, she could be a little insecure at times, but come on, I'd always thought it was obvious how I felt about her – even if I never _did_ work up the guts to admit I loved her before she left.

I don't know; maybe if I had, then Jess – even after-the-war/losing-her-powers Jess – would have had a little more faith in me. Wouldn't have given up so easily. Maybe, if I'd already told her, I have been smart enough to do more than just get mad and tell her how different she'd gotten; how damaged. Maybe, if she'd known I loved her – was _in_ love with her – I would've followed her, and not let her run away.

But she'd never known, I guess, and I never did follow her. I waited, yeah – sometimes it feels as if that's all I've been doing for the past two years, waiting – but I still let her leave and try to work through everything – fix herself – on her own.

Who knows? Maybe it's better that I did. I never held much stock in 'maybes' or 'if-onlys' anyway. I mean, sure, the Jess standing in front of me didn't look exactly _happy_, but, much as I might hate to admit it, that was probably a direct result of my (unexpected) presence at her door.

God, she probably hated me now.

"This is a bad time," I said, seizing onto The Bitch and the two mysterious guys (they were NOT boyfriends, they were NOT boyfriends, if they were boyfriends I was gonna have to punch somebody) as convenient excuses. "You've got company. I can come back later."

Of course I didn't want to leave _completely_, but maybe if I went away for the moment, at least… Called ahead next time, arranged something, I dunno. I was beginning to regret not warning her ahead of time that I was coming. But I'd suspected – and had it confirmed by Doug – that if Jess had had any clue I was coming, she would have been long gone by the time I arrived.

And I guess I could have sent her an email or something. But I felt like this was something I had to do face-to-face. Plus, I just wanted to _see_ her, face-to-face.

Jess just continued staring at me, shock and a couple other expressions I really wished I could interpret, on her face. She didn't say a word in response; I wasn't sure she'd even heard what I said.

But one of the male voices did again, shoving past Jess waving a fifty-dollar-bill, and revealing himself to be (much to my relief, because Jess would never touch the guy) _Skip_ Abramowitz.

"Hey, can you break this?" he asked. Then I guess he noticed I held no pizza, and wasn't wearing a uniform. Ever slow on the uptake (I don't really know that. I'm just inferring it from him **a)** wanting to go out with Jess so continuously, not getting that she never liked him; the weekend after my dinner with the Mastrianis, and Jess's and my following 'break-up' – though it wasn't, not really – he actually asked her out again, and **b) **being The Bitch's brother – and such an annoying brother that even _she_ was horrified by the idea of him going out with Jess) _Skip_ frowned. "Hey, where's the 'za?"

Finally, he looked at my _face_, and seemed to actually recognize me. Sort of. "Hey," he said slowly, and Christ, couldn't he start a sentence with another word? There were plenty of options! "I know you."

Before he could continue, or I could respond, The Bitch walked up, holding a pile of plates. "Did you remember the hot-pepper – " she stopped mid-sentence, staring at me in shock.

Okay, she _definitely_ recognized me.

"Oh," she kind of gasped, "It's… it's…"

"Rob," I helped her out, sneaking a glance at Jess, who still hadn't moved – not even when the two Abramowitzes squeezed into the tiny entryway with her. Just continued to stare.

"Right," The Bitch glanced at Jess in much the same way, only looking more worried. "Rob. From back home."

Yeah. That's me. _Rob, from back home_.

"You remember Rob, Skip," The Bitch went on, sounding – well, actually sounding a lot less bitchy than she used to. In fact, she really just sounded worried – about Jess, I guess. Maybe she didn't really deserve that nickname anymore. Maybe I should just start calling her Ruth.

I don't know, though, that's a pretty big step…

"How could I forget?" _Skip_ asked, flatly. _Now_ he remembered me properly: as Jess's old boyfriend. He glared at me.

Okay, maybe I was willing to at least _consider_ being nice (or, civil, anyway) to his sister, even in my head, but _Skip_ was still – and always would be – at the top of my 'to mock and forever dislike' list. No matter what.

"Right." The B–_Ruth_ (see, I can do it if I really try) sounded uncomfortable, confused, nervous, _and_ worried now. I guess I couldn't blame her. "Well. Do you, um… do you want to come in, Rob?"

Okay, now I just felt sorry for her.

"What's the holdup?" I heard the voice of the other guy, who turned out to be Jess's older brother Mike, from what I could see of his face peering over everyone's shoulders.

_Thank __**god**__, no boyfriends! **Thank** you!  
_

"You guys need change or something?" he asked.

"It's not the pizza guy," _Skip_ told him without taking his eyes off me, "It's Rob Wilkins."

"_Who?_" Mike sounded beyond shocked. "_Here?_"

This was getting ridiculous. And Jess _still_ hadn't said a word, or even moved. I was getting kind of fed up.

"Look," I said, ignoring everyone else and speaking to Jess. "If this is a bad time, Jess, I can come back – "

All eyes turned to Jess, who blushed a little under our collective gazes, but still didn't break her mute silence. A long, awkward pause followed.

Until, amazingly enough, Ruth (no, _not_ The Bitch; _Ruth_) broke it – and took my side.

"We'll just go out and let you two have some time alone together," she said, beginning to put down her stack of plates on a tiny hall table.

Which was nice of her, and all, but I kind of _wanted_ to leave, for the night at least, by this point. And I was still getting the very distinct impression from Jess (and Mike and _Skip_ too) that I wasn't very welcome. Actually, Ruth probably didn't want me here either, but she was making an effort for Jess's sake despite her dislike of me – a first in all the time I'd known her. The friendship had seemed to be all give and no take from Jess's side, that I'd seen, which had been yet another contributing factor in me calling her The Bitch.

"Go out?" _Skip_ asked, sounding very affronted. "What about the pizza we ordered?"

Hearing that, even though I normally wouldn't pay attention to a word out of the guy's mouth, sealed the deal for me, and I shook my head. "You know what?" I said, turning, "I'll come back later."

I began to walk away, feeling more than a little disappointed (even though, in all honesty, I'd feared worse than dead silence, _Skip_ aside) and still reeling from seeing Jess myself, though I obviously didn't show it as much as she did. Or hate the experience as much, for that matter.

But then, as I walked away, I heard it. For the first time in a year – and for the first time in _two_ years, not yelling at me.

Her voice.

"Wait," Jess said, and I froze, pivoting my head around to look back at her. Now that she seemed to have gotten over her shock and/or horror at me resurfacing from her past, I had no idea what Jess would say. Especially when you factored in our rapt audience.

"Let me grab my keys," were her chosen words, "We can talk while we grab something to eat somewhere."

My heart – corny as I am (_pain-_)fully aware it sounds – seized up a moment before thumping faster than before.

After a brief halt at the little table, in which she seemed to be arguing with her brother, Jess returned, pulling on a coat and tucking her keys into a pocket as she walked. She passed the Abramowitz kids in the hallway, saying goodbye to Ruth quickly, before joining me in the hallway.

She didn't, I noted with pleasure, even acknowledge _Skip_'s presence. Not even when she stepped on his foot in the limited space.

Well, not until he called after her. "I thought we were having pizza!" Idiot.

But Jess still seemed to care what _Skip_ thought of her exactly as much as she had two years ago; that is, not at all. "Save me a slice," she told him, drawing even with me.

And just like that, we turned and headed down the stairs together.

Mission… accomplished?

* * *

**The Latest Anonymous Review Responses for Other TGIL:**

_...Was Struck By Lightning:_

--**Bluebottle:** Thanks! As you can see, I've finally made it there, and sure hope it'll be enjoyable!

--**young:** Glad to hear it. :) And YES! I totally agree, it bugged me so much I had to write my own! ;)

_...Is My Sanctuary:_

--**starbox: **Wow, thanks! I'm very flattered, even if I've never read the story in question. :)

--**sasfas:** I'm curious. Was that just a test or did a real review get lost in there somewhere?

--**young: **Hey, thanks! As you can see, the answer is **yes**. I'm very excited/nervous about this one. We'll see how it goes, I guess. Thank **you** for reviewing. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, guys... Bad news. You may have guessed, from my absence, that I've been busy. And I have. Quite apart from the puking (don't ask, it's over now, thank god), I found out that my grades from last semester were... not good, and so this semester I'm going to be putting a lot more time and effort into my studies, which means, unfortunately, less fanfic time. Sorry. Updates are probably gonna be kind of slow.

That said... I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It turned out kind of long, but I got the feeling you wouldn't mind. ;)

**Anonymous review responses:**

**young: **Hehe, thanks! I'm very glad that I rate imaginary maracas. Believe it or not, I've never gotten them before. :) Well, Rob's very worried about screwing it up too, but he's got priorities on his mind after all. It's kind of a nervous chapter though, overall. Anyway. Happy (belated) New Year! You too!

**starbox: **Thank you! I figured, Rob's grown up too, he's more mature, he can call her by her real name... Even if it IS really incredibly difficult for him. ;) Oh, and I'm sorry I made you wait anyway... Eek, don't be mad!

**bri:** Thanks! I hope you enjoy it!

**bluebottle: **Glad to hear it! And, well, I know I didn't update SOON, exactly, but... um... heh. ;)

**Sara-san: **Thanks! I'm glad you're in a good mood now. :) Yeah, you gotta feel sorry for poor Rob here. He's so agonized about Jess and everything. And you're right: I think 'za is weird. I've never heard it said, personally. I think it's a regional thing, though. Oh well. Thanks again - I was pretty proud of that line. :)

**Nick:** Here you go! I took your advice. :)

**buttercup:** Sure, okay! Here you are!

**wings in the night:** Thank you! I'm so glad you've enjoyed the series so far!

* * *

We walked in silence back down the five flights of stairs I'd just climbed ten minutes ago, and continued on the street, still not talking. So far, the only words Jess had spoken were when she told me to wait, and I never was extremely talkative a person myself. In these circumstances, I could hardly be expected to suddenly start.

I mean, think about it. Here I was, visiting the girl I love, my ex-girlfriend who currently thought that I'd cheated on her, not to mention who was psychically and emotionally broken following a harrowing experience assisting on-site with the U.S. Army's capture of dangerous criminals at the assistance of the Feds who had been spying on her for two years (shout-out to Krantz: someday I might find occasion to stab out your intestines with a rusty spork; thanks, buddy), until she had decided to work with them in the first place – and I had come to ask her to find someone for me, which would bring all that back to her.

Seriously, would _you_ be chatty? I didn't think so.

We continued to walk down the street with no destination, getting buffeted by the crowd. I don't like New York. Walking in crowds – not really my idea of a good time, and in New York, there's no way to avoid that, unless you want to be in traffic for hours. But Jess didn't seem to mind.

Finally, she broke the silence, not looking at me as she said: "There's a decent Mexican place around the corner."

I nodded, once more failing to mention that I'd already eaten, and Jess led me to the place. It was okay, I guess, not really grimy and kind of cozy, and the smell coming from the kitchen was actually appetizing, making me wish I hadn't bothered with the fast-food I'd had earlier; then I'd have room to eat something that – judging by smell alone – would actually taste good.

Of course, I'd probably be too nervous to eat much anyway.

Jess led me straight to a booth in the corner, next to the window, and I sat down next to her. The waitress arrived shortly after, and smiled at us. "Hey, Jess," she said, leading me to guess that this was one of Jess's favorite haunts.

I filed that away in my mental 'Jess file', which had been growing steadily over the past few years, amassing a wide array of information, from how she liked to be kissed to what kind of gum she prefers (grape Bubblicious – I remember that from a cashier not long after news first got out about Jess being psychic – I have no idea why, though, since I didn't even really like her too much at the time) to more current stuff I learn from Doug, like that her summer job is teaching underprivileged kids the flute. Not only that, but I had her paper trail, too.

Wow, I _am_ a stalker.

"The usual?" the waitress continued, distracting me from my train of thought, and confirming my suspicion.

Jess nodded. "Yes, please."

"Just a beer," I said, though I wasn't really prepared for the extensive list of brands she then rattled off. I mean, seriously, how does she remember all of that?

I picked one, and soon the waitress left, leaving Jess and I alone together for the first time in a year.

Yeah, I know I keep saying that. And I'm sorry, I really am. I'm sure you aren't interested in hearing that it's been a year (or two years) since so-and-so happened between me and Jess, every time something new occurs.

It's just that it's kind of mind-boggling for me. A year can be a really long time. Especially since it was really more like two. We _had_ seen each-other a year ago, after all. Jess saw Nancy kissing me, and I saw her breaking up with me.

Shit, I'm getting melodramatic. Again. I _hate_ melodrama. I'm just gonna stop, 'kay?

The point was, we were alone (literally. We were the only two customers in the restaurant) and I was starting to get nervous. Really nervous.

My hands were twitching, and I couldn't seem to stop rearranging my silverware. I kept looking around – you guessed it, anywhere but at Jess. And it was hard to contain the urge to get up and start pacing.

"So," Jess said, and I jumped a little. "How's your mom?"

For some reason, that question took me completely by surprise, though it probably shouldn't have. My mom had always loved Jess, and the two of them got along really well. When she first found out about Jess breaking up with me, you should have seen Mom's face; she was devastated. "But it was all a misunderstanding!" She kept saying, "I'm sure if you and Jess could just talk about it…"

"My mom?" I said. "She's fine. Fine."

Great. I was so freaked out, I was repeating words. Next I'd started stuttering, God forbid.

"Good," Jess seemed like she meant it, nodding her head decisively. "My dad says she quit a while back."

I heard the question in her voice, and answered it quickly.

"Yeah. Well, what happened was, she moved to Florida."

"She did?" Jess sounded about as surprised as I'd felt when Mom first told me. "Florida?"

I nodded. God, suddenly I felt so nervous I couldn't think straight.

"Yeah," I agreed, moving my fork to the left of my knife and bouncing my knee under the table. "With, um" – oh _crap_, I was 'um'ing – "that guy. Her boyfriend. Gary. Did you meet Gary?"

_Shit_, of _course_ she'd met Gary! At Thanksgiving dinner – _Thanksgiving dinner_. That was the night Jess had told me _she loved me_. And now she'd think I'd _forgotten!_

No wonder she thinks I'm an asshole.

"Her sister lives there," I said fast, although from Jess's expression I could tell that she'd already made the connection. "My aunt. And things were tight – you know, back home. Gary got a better job down there and asked her to come with him. So she said she'd try it out for a while. And she liked it so much, she ended up moving."

As surprised as I'd been when my mom had first mentioned moving to Florida, I was the exact opposite when she told me she was going to stay permanently. Even if she didn't realize it consciously, she never would have moved all the way down to Florida with someone she didn't love (not that Gary deserves it. Even if I've gotten past calling him an asshole all the time), or with the intention of coming back any time soon.

Besides, even if I hadn't known that much from the beginning, all the increasing amounts of items she kept asking me to ship her would have clued me in. By the time she called me to tell me she was staying with Gary permanently, I'd made up my mind long ago, and offered straightway to buy the house.

"Oh," Jess said, still looking kind of stunned. But she recovered quickly, and added, "Well, I'm happy for her, I guess. For you both. That things are going so well."

What could I say to that? Of course she would think that my life was going great. Honestly, it was. Career-wise, family-wise…

But there was the tiny fact that I'd been reasonably miserable the whole time. You know. Without love. And now I sound like a country song. Moving on…

"Thanks," was all I said, awkwardly.

The waitress came back, and set down out drinks and some chips. I was about to eat one, when I was distracted by Jess's drink.

Apparently, my staring was pretty noticeable, because Jess grumbled, "It's virgin."

I blinked. "Oh." In all honesty, that hadn't even occurred to me when I saw the margarita… No, what had caught – and held – my attention, was the tiny purple umbrella in it. I voiced this observation aloud. "It has an umbrella in it."

"Yeah?" Jess shrugged, closing said umbrella and sticking it in her pocket. "So what?"

"I just never would have pegged you for an umbrella-drink kind of girl," I said before I thought better of it.

"Yeah," Jess said, a little pointedly. "Well, I'm full of surprises."

I dropped the subject after that, letting the waitress ("Ann", upon closer inspection of her nametag) tell us about all of the various specials, a list almost as long and varied as that of their beers. But I was still thinking about that umbrella. Had Jess always been into them, or was that just yet another thing that had changed in the past two years?

I shook myself out of it when Ann left the table, glancing curiously back at us. The umbrella was unimportant.

"And your folks? How are they doing?" I asked, as if I didn't already know. I mean, I probably see more of them than she does.

"They're fine," Jess told me.

I nodded. "Yeah, I see Doug from time to time." …In other words, about three or four times a week.

"He told me that Mike was spending the summer with you," I said, not remembering it until the words were actually out of my mouth. And here I'd been all worried about him being Jess's boyfriend, or something, when I should have been expecting him all along. "Ruth's brother, too, I see. Or is he just visiting?" I was pretty proud of myself for not saying _Skip_ out loud – so far I've managed to avoid it, because I know I won't be able to stop myself from emphasizing it aloud the way I do in my thoughts.

"No," Jess took another sip of her drink. "He's with us until September. They're both crashing – he and Mike – while they work internships in the city. So did your mom sell the farm? I mean, when she moved to Florida?"

It suddenly occurred to me exactly _why_ – apart from the obvious – this conversation was making me so nervous and uncomfortable. It was _because_ we were both so nervous and uncomfortable. The conversation was stilted and awkward; neither of us really knew what to say, and we were both basically grasping at straws here – and that was new for both of us. Even back when I kept trying to break up with Jess or pretend we weren't going out, or even way back when we first met, we'd always been pretty comfortable around each-other. But now that, apparently, was gone. I had to fight down the urge to suddenly call Jess 'Mastriani'. I used to do that, in an attempt to distance myself from her, and then just because… well, because I just did – but now it somehow seemed more intimate than using her first name. Like something that I didn't have the right to call her anymore, because I'd done it back then.

I shook my head. "No, we've still got the farm. Or, I should say, I've got it. I bought it – and the house – from my mom."

Jess was looking a little panicked, as if she was running out of things to say. My short answers probably weren't helping. "And, are you still working at your uncle's garage?"

I winced. I hadn't really wanted to tell Jess about that, and the house, and all. But maybe it was still possible to avoid it.

"Yeah," I squeezed the lime that came with my beer into the top of the bottle, more because I needed something to do with my hands than because of a desire for the taste. "Only it's not his garage anymore. He retired. So he sold it."

"Oh," Jess blinked, obviously not expecting that. "Well, that must be weird. I mean, working for somebody else after working for your uncle for so long."

_Curses. Foiled again._

"Not really," I said, taking a drink, "Because he sold it to me."

I sounded nonchalant, despite the fact that I was talking about, basically, my life's goal coming true. I mean, it was a major big moment for me. I've only even been out of high school for three years, after all. Not many people own their own business at this age; let alone their own property, too.

But hey, it's _me_ we're talking about, here.

…I'll just put my ego trip on hold for the moment, shall I? Back to the conversation.

"You bought your uncle's garage?" Jess asked me, incredulously. Huh. If she continued like this, I was going to run out of words to describe her stupefaction. Oops, there went another one.

I nodded.

"And your mom's house."

I nodded again.

Jess stared at me briefly, looking like she was trying to figure something out. …Probably where I got the cash. Which isn't really all that shocking, since me and Mom never were exactly rolling in it, or anything. Let's just say… I worked a lot, saved a lot, got a loan from Chick – he won't let me forget it either, since I've yet to finish paying him back, the jackass – and a pretty low price for both the garage and farm. Relatives.

Still, I guess Jess felt like she couldn't just flat-out ask me, and I wasn't really about to volunteer the information. Not that it was any big secret. I just didn't feel like discussing how wonderfully my life was supposedly going, that's all.

After a few awkward moments, I spoke up. "What about you?" I asked, "How are you liking school out here?"

"It's okay," Jess said shortly.

…_Okay_, then. I guess she was angry now? She didn't _look_ angry, even if she sounded sort of mad. But then, she probably _was_ angry. I mean, why the heck wouldn't she be angry at me? Agh, I shouldn't even be here – what did I think I was _doing?_

"Doug says you're doing really well," I said, almost desperately, my hands reaching for the silverware again, entirely on their own. "In school, I mean. First chair in orchestra, or something?" Doug had led me to believe that was a big deal. I guessed he was probably right, even if I knew basically nothing about band. Orchestra. As far as I could tell from that one solo at Camp Whatever a few years ago, Jess was a pretty kickass flutist. And, anything with the number 'one' in it is usually good.

Jess nodded, and took a sip of her drink. "Yeah. But I'm taking a break for the summer."

"Right." I nodded. "Doug says you and Ruth are doing some kind of summer arts program for needy kids?"

Jess smiled briefly. "Yeah. It's pretty cool. I like it a lot. Better than playing in orchestra, actually. The kids are fun."

Yeah. Kids. That actually made me smile, despite my nervousness, remembering Jess interacting with the various kids she'd rescued. They all instantly seemed to fall in love with her – romantically, in one kid's case.

"You always did like kids," I said, "You were always great with them, too."

Jess didn't even make any sort of confirming noise, just looked down at the table. Awkward silence followed.

And then the little voice in my head that seemed to be the only part of me not currently in an '_It's Jess! It's Jess!_' panic popped up, going, _Hello, perfect segue right here… Use it, Rob! Use it! Don't forget why you're here!_

So I did.

"That's kind of why I'm here, actually," I said, and Jess blinked at me.

"What? Because of… kids?" She sounded mystified. I would have been, too. What did kids have to do with me?

"Yeah, basically." I nodded again.

Jess blinked once more. Then she took a huge gulp of her drink, and started choking.

"Whoa," I said, worried. She looked like she was in pain. "Slow down, slugger."

Jess winced. "Sorry."

I frowned at her for a minute, but eventually decided not to bother asking why she'd reacted that way. By now I'd learned not to ever try to understand the inner workings of Jess's head.

"The thing is," I told her, leaning forward a little bit. I actually had to fight down the urge to lower my voice to a whisper. Dumb, I know. "I know things have been… well, weird between us. You and me, I mean. The past two years or so."

Hah. _Weird_. I've never looked it up, but I'd guess that it's not really a synonym for you-broke-up-with-me-and-I've-been-a-miserable-idiot-ever-since.

I plowed on anyway, leaning closer. "But we're still friends, right? I mean… maybe we aren't – whatever we were – anymore."

Whatever-we-were. I figured that might be a good way to put it. After all, we'd never really traditionally dated; not unless you counted blowing up helicopters and rescuing kids from militia groups, as typical dates.

"But we'll always be friends, won't we?" I asked, pretty much anxiously. I mean, let's face it. Jess wasn't friends with me at that point. She probably really resented me even showing up again. After all, she thought I broke her heart. And I always thought Jess would be really good at carrying that whole 'hell hath no fury like woman scorned' thing to the grave. She probably wasn't going to forgive me anytime soon, let alone hang out with me and talk bikes, or whatever.

But we'd been through a lot, and I guess at that point I was just really hoping that she would remember that. It had to count for something, right?

I mentioned this. "I mean, after everything we went through together."

Jess looked far from convinced.

And then, words popped into my head and out of my mouth without me even considering them first. "Detention at Ernie Pyle High. That's gotta bind people for life, right?"

Jess smiled. Tiny, but it was there – and for what might very well be the first and _only_ time, I thanked God for Hank Wendell.

Yes, I know. Shocking. But it was him who had put that idea in my head, what with his weird need to butt into my life all the time. Seriously, he just wouldn't leave me alone. And once, when I politely told him to go away (see: "Leave me alone already before I finally brain you"), he used that excuse, or something more or less along those lines. Detention at Ernie Pyle High.

So yes, I hereby thank him for existing and being incredibly annoying, because that statement relieved the tension just enough.

"Yeah," Jess said, tiny smile on her face, "I guess so."

"Good." I leaned back a little bit, suddenly extremely relieved. I knew that I still had a ways to go – I hadn't even mentioned why I was here yet, and even if she admitted that we were friends, she could still easily say no. But I couldn't help but feel incredibly… _incredibly_ relieved. "Good," I repeated. "Okay. So, we're still friends."

"Still friends," Jess confirmed, taking another sip of her drink. I glanced at my basically untouched beer for a moment, then mentally shrugged. Whatever.

"Then it'd be okay if I asked you," I said slowly, taking deep breaths and gripping the table with my fingers. I was trying my hardest not to fidget, but I couldn't help bouncing my knee nervously under the table. "I mean, as a friend – "

I faltered, and stopped. Okay. I could do this. Just ask her. "So, here's the thing – "

I couldn't do it, I couldn't do this. Crap. I could not do this, I _could not_ just sit here and ask Jess to do this for me. She was going to say no, and to forget about the friend thing, and…

Then Hannah's face flashed into my mind.

What the _hell_ did I think I was doing? My own fears, my own issues didn't matter here. Hannah needed help. And Jess could help her. I wasn't going to deny her that help, just because I didn't want Jess to stop smiling at me, was I?

Like _hell_.

I took a deep breath, and let it out.

"Jess," I said, my voice strong. "I need you to find my sister."


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, guys. Yeah, I'm back. I have a wonderful list of excuses, which are many and varied, but there are three main reasons it's been so long. 1) School - warned you about that. 2) Lost the book - yeah, I know, stupid of me, but after a while, I just got sick of searching for it and wrote other fanfic instead. Forgive me. 3) My dog died. :'(

Yeah, so, anyway, I'm back! Although, the school thing still stands... But for now, I have a chapter for you.

Oh, and excerpt, because when I saw this line in the book it made me squee: "'...you really have no earthly idea what's going on inside my head.'" - Rob, to Jess. But we do, we _do!_

Also, thank you. I didn't realize my cliffie skills were all that great, but many of you commented on it. Also the spork line. :P Oh, and _**no**_, you silly people, I clearly have not/will not abandon this story. I mean, as you have said, this is the last book! I couldn't _do_ that!

Anyway. Anonymous review responses are at the bottom this time, so you can get to the story faster. Enjoy!

* * *

Jess blinked at me in silence, for approximately three seconds. It seemed way too quiet in the restaurant. Why couldn't there be any other customers? She was just… _staring_ at me, disbelieving.

Then she spoke.

"You need me to WHAT?"

Correction – not spoke; yelled. That was definitely a yell. Ow. Now the restaurant wasn't quiet, all right.

I looked down at my beer. I seemed to be doing that a lot, but it was a much better alternative than looking at Jess, that's for sure.

I have to admit: with her yell, most of my courage disappeared – but that's okay, because it was replaced with a well-what-do-I-have-to-lose-anyway? feeling, that still enabled me to continue speaking, very quickly.

"My sister," I told Jess, staring at the glass bottle in front of me. "She's missing. I need you to help me find her. You know I wouldn't ask you, Jess, if I wasn't really worried about her. Doug's told me you don't… well… _do_ that anymore. He told me the war – well, that it really messed you up. And I totally understand that, Jess. I do."

I looked up at Jess, and met her eyes. Okay. I could do this. I _had_ to. I had to get her to help me – to help Hannah. Help me help Hannah. Whatever.

"But if there's any way… _any way_ at all. If you could just give me a _hint_ about where she is… I'd really appreciate it." – Understatement, that – "And I swear afterwards I'll go away and leave you alone." That one hurt to say, since I really didn't want to… But it wouldn't be too different than the past two years, anyway.

Jess stared at me, again. Only this time, there was no blinking. It was… creepy.

After a long pause, she spoke, sounding dull and calm – possibly in medical shock. "You don't _have_ a sister."

"Yes," I refuted. "Actually, I do."

"How could you have a sister," Jess snarled, suddenly sounding extremely angry, like I'd flipped a switch or something, "and not even tell me?"

Ooh. How did I not see that? Now Jess thought that I'd kept Hannah's existence from her. "Because I didn't know about her myself," I said, "until a few months ago."

"What?" Jess was back to just confused, now. I felt a little sorry for her. She looked like I was putting her through the emotional washing machine, or something, whatever that phrase is – you know, flipping around through every spectrum of emotion. "Did your mom put her up for adoption, and not tell you, or something?"

I sighed. "She's not related to my mom."

…And cue Annoyed Jess once more, with a healthy dose of Disbelieving added to the mix. "Then how can she be your sister?"

I shrugged a little. "She's my dad's kid," I said simply. I probably could have gone into more detail, but I figured that would be all Jess needed. And since I don't really like talking about my dad, well…

"So… your dad's out of jail?" Jess asked – clearly I was wrong. It looked like I'd have to tell her the whole story.

"No," I said, trying – and definitely failing – not to wince. It's just, well – that was the first time. That Jess ever said… that. It had always been this thing, where she just knew I didn't like to talk about it, and we just never mentioned it. "No, he's still there. But before he got sent away, after he and my mom got divorced, he met someone else – "

Comprehension emerged on Jess's face. "So she's your half sister," she said, the _ohh_ unspoken, but clearly implied.

"Right." I finally – very belatedly – noticed the chips on the table and scooped up some guacamole with one, crunching on it. It was a little bit less of an obvious giveaway for the whole I-am-incredibly-nervous-seeing-you-again-and-worried-about-my-sister-and-(it's-just-so-great-to-_see_-you-again-finally)-that-I-have-to-do-something-with-my-hands-so-I-don't-explode thing, than playing with the silverware. Or at least, I thought so.

I continued, "I didn't know about her until she wrote to me this spring. See, she wasn't getting along with her mother, and so she started writing to my dad and he told her about… about me and my mom. So one night she called, and… well. It's something, to find out you have a little sister you never even knew you had."

Jess, looking shell-shocked, said, "I can imagine."

Now that I had gotten started talking about Hannah, it seemed like I just couldn't stop. I got this little smile, despite, well, everything – and said, "Her name's Hannah. Hannah Snyder. She's a great kid. Really funny and kind of… well, feisty. Like you, a lot, actually."

She was, too. The first time we talked… well, I picked up the phone, and Hannah just said, all matter-of-fact, "Hi? Rob Wilkins? I'm Hannah, your sister." Just like that. And, well… She just reminds me a lot of Jess. It kind of – helped.

Jess smiled thinly. "Great."

I just nodded. "Things were… well, Hannah said things weren't too great for her at home. I mean, with her mother. She was into some things – Hannah's mom – that she shouldn't have been into. Drugs and stuff. And men." I cleared my throat, feeling awkward, and shoved another chip into the guacamole. "Men who Hannah said made her feel uncomfortable. You know, um. On account of her getting older, and them – "

"Paying unwanted attention to her?" Jess substituted, when I stopped. I mean, yeah, I just didn't like saying it – it was awkward and weird – but I also felt suddenly very angry. I never even met Hannah's mom first-hand – I never _wanted_ to, if she would put her daughter into that kind of situation. I just… as soon as Hannah told me about that, even though I'd never seen her, and even though I had just barely learned about her _existence_, well. I just wanted to – protect her. Keep her safe, you know. Protective brother stuff; it just kinda happened.

And, of course, I also wanted to _kill_ some of the assholes that dared to even _look_ at my _sister _like that – to do some serious fucking _damage_. But, I suppressed that urge, in favor of getting her out of that environment.

I told Jess this – well, minus the whole ripping-out-throats urge. "Right," I said. "And I didn't think that was such a hot environment for her to be growing up in. So I started looking into what it would take for me to become her legal guardian until she turns eighteen. It wasn't as if her mother wanted her around. Since school was out, she – Hannah's mother – said it would be all right if Hannah came for a visit."

Jess nodded along. I couldn't tell if she was actually interested, or just being polite. "Uh-huh."

"So a week ago, I picked her up from her mom's place in Indianapolis," – I continued anyway, just in case she was. Interested, I mean. Plus it was better than staring into my beer – "and Hannah came to stay with me. And everything was great. I mean, it was like we'd grown up together and never been apart, you know? We both like the same stuff – cars and bikes and _The Simpsons_ and Spider-Man and Italian food and fireworks and…" I trailed off, realizing I was babbling. Crap. "I mean, it was great. It was really great."

I sighed, and put my hands flat on the table, looking at Jess.

"Then day before yesterday, I woke up, and she was gone. Just… gone. Her bed hadn't been slept in. All of her stuff is still in her room. Her mom hasn't heard from her. The cops can't find a trace of her. She's just. Gone."

Jess stared back. "And you thought of me."

I nodded. "And I thought of you."

"But I don't do that anymore," Jess said, looking a little sad. "Find people, I mean."

"I know," I agreed. "At least, I know that's what you tell the press. But, Jess. I mean… you used to tell the press that before. To get them off your back. When they wouldn't let you alone, and it was upsetting Doug. And then again, later, when the government was after you to come work for them. You pretended then, too – "

I'm fully aware that I sounded a little desperate. And I was. But, I was also absolutely sure – positive – that Jess still had her powers. I didn't believe they had just faded away, like the doctors first said they might, because it hadn't been gradual. And any other reason they weren't working – well, it had to just be in Jess's head. It's like I said, when she first came back. Broken. She was broken; _her_, not her powers, and it wasn't until she fixed herself that they would start working again. I had kind of been hoping she had managed it, and just still said they were gone because she didn't want to be bothered anymore, like in the examples I'd just given her.

But, you know, I had also entertained the notion that the reason he powers weren't working were because we had broken up – they did happen remarkably close together – and if she would just forgive me (_believe_ me about Nancy) and try again, they'd come back.

And, yeah, that was a fun idea – but I knew it was the first one. Just like I knew, now, that Jess was still broken. It was written all over her face.

"Yeah," she interrupted me loudly, startling the two people walking past us. Great, just when we get past the 'silent and uncomfortable' part of the evening, _then_ the place gets other customers – "But this time it's not pretend. I _really_ don't do that anymore. I _can't_." Okay, and her saying that was a clue about the broken thing, too.

I just looked at Jess calmly. _Well-what-do-I-have-to-lose-anyway?_

"That's not what Doug said."

Jess looked absolutely furious. Sounded it, too. "_Douglas?_ What does _Douglas_ think he knows about it? You think my brother Douglas knows more than the thirty thousand shrinks the army sent me to, to try to get it back? You think Douglas is some kind of posttraumatic stress expert? Douglas works in a comic-book store, Rob. I love him, but he doesn't know anything about this."

Ouch. Poor Doug. "He might know more about you," I told Jess, "than the shrinks the army sent you to."

"Yeah," Jess barked. "Well, you're wrong. I'm done, okay? And this time, it's for real. It's not just a put-on to get me out of the war. I'm out. I'm sorry about your sister. I wish there was something I could do. And I'm sorry if Douglas misled you. You shouldn't have come all this way. If you'd called instead, I could have just told you over the phone."

No, you'd have run. And… "But if I'd called instead I wouldn't have been able to give you this," I said, and pulled out my wallet. I was suddenly glad I'd never let myself give in to the impulse to put a photo of Jess in there. If she had seen it… It didn't bear thinking about.

I handed Jess the photo of Hannah. "That's Hannah," I stated the obvious. "She just turned fifteen."

I saw her face soften for a second, looking at that photo, but then she took a deep breath. "Rob, I told you. There's nothing I can do for her. For you. I'm sorry."

"Right," I nodded, still determined. She _thought_ that, but I knew different. "You said that. Look, Jess. I don't know what you went through during the – " I almost did it. I almost said _war_, and I saw Jess flinch, just like I had when she'd said… well, you know. " – year before last. When you were… overseas. I can't even pretend to be able to imagine what it was like for you over there. From what Doug says, when you got back – "

Jess looked up from the photo suddenly, glaring at me. I stopped, and changed the tone of my voice. "Hey," I said, more gently. "Don't blame Doug. I asked, okay? When you came back, you were so… you were – " I looked around for inspiration, and saw a cactus on the windowsill next to us. "You were like that plant. Covered in prickles. You wouldn't let anybody get anywhere near you – "

"How would you know?" Jess snatched her hand back, and it was only then that I realized I'd covered it with my own – it was just kind of instinctive, I guess. Hannah's picture fluttered down to land on the table, grinning up at us. "You were so busy with Miss-Thanks-for-Fixing-My-Carburetor, I'm surprised you even noticed."

"Hey," I said, feeling unaccountably stung. I _knew_ that she still thought I'd cheated on her, but… Still, it hurt. "Take it easy. I told you – "

Jess interrupted me, for about the fiftieth time since sitting down. "Let's cut to the chase here, Rob." Her face was red, and her voice was shaking. _God_, I just wanted to go over and hug her – okay, I don't care if you're just a clueless ditz, Nancy, right now I wish you had never been born.

"You want me to find your sister. Fine. I can't find her. I can't find anyone. Now you know. It's not a lie. It's not a stunt to get people off my back. It's real. I'm not Lightning Girl anymore. But don't try to snow me with fake sympathy. It's not necessary, and it won't work."

I swallowed. Hard. Okay, she was upset, I know, but… I admit, I expected no welcome. I didn't think she would instantly take me back, and that proved truer and truer as time went on. But I didn't expect, well… _that_.

And it hurt.

"My sympathy," I said, trying not to let _my_ voice shake, too, "isn't fake, Jess. I don't know how you could say that to me, after everything we've been through toge–"

Jess held up a hand, cutting me off. "Don't even start," she said, like I was trying to guilt-trip her or something. Like I was just this annoying inconvenience that she couldn't wait to get rid of, and was really tired of dealing with. "You only seem to remember everything we've been through when you want something from me. The rest of the time, you seem to forget it all conveniently enough."

I opened my mouth to deny it – I mean, that was just _blatantly_ untrue – but I never got the chance. That's because Ann, our waitress, came up to us, looking a little worried. "Everything all right here, guys?"

The couple that had come in a little while ago was giving us weird looks from behind their menus. The girl kind of glared at me. I think she heard what Jess said, about me cheating on her, and obviously thought it was true, and so – I'm sick of being the bad guy here. I didn't _do anything_.

Jess sighed. "Everything great," she said, sounding like someone had just killed her puppy. "Can we just get the check?"

"Sure," Ann said, "Be right back." She glanced at me, kind of anxiously, as she went, and even though I know it wasn't really a suspicious look – just concerned for her friend – that was the last straw.

I am _sick_ of being the bad guy, and I am not taking this crap anymore. I might love her, but – that's it, Jess, it's my turn to talk.

I leaned across the table the moment Ann was gone, looking intently at Jess. Despite everything, I couldn't help but notice that our knees were touching, and our fingers were too, almost.

I started to talk in a low voice. "Jess, I understand that you went through hell the year before last. I understand that you were under unbelievable pressure and that you saw things no one your age – or any age – should have seen. I think it's incredible that you were able to come back and lead a life that bears any semblance to normalcy. I admire that you didn't crack up completely."

I lowered my voice even more. I didn't want that couple to have a _chance_ of overhearing anything. "But there is one undeniable fact that you seem to overlooking about yourself, Jess, that apparently everyone but you can see: You came back from wherever you were broken."

Jess sucked in a sharp breath at that last word, but I went right on talking, thinking _Well-what-do-I-have-to-lose-anyway?_ and _I-am-__**sick**__-of-being-the-bad-guy._ She might not _like_ hearing this, but… she needed to.

"You heard me," I said. "And I'm not talking about the fact that you can't find people anymore. I'm talking about YOU. Whatever it is you saw out there – it broke you. Those people – the government – used you until they had everything they wanted from you – until you had nothing else to give – and then they cut you loose, with a thank-you and a smile. And you came back. But let's not kid ourselves here: You came back broken. And you won't let anyone near enough to try to help you. I'm not talking about shrinks, either. I'm talking about the people who love you." _Me_.

Jess started to say something, but I just kept on talking. "And you know what? That's fine. You've rescued so many people, you think you're above letting anyone try to rescue _you?_ That's fine, too. Rescue yourself then… if you can. But let's get one thing straight: You may have been able to find missing people at one time. But you were never a mind reader. So don't pretend to tell me what I'm thinking and feeling, when you really have no earthly idea what's going on inside my head."

I leaned back in my seat, as Ann came back with the check, seething silently. It was true – she had no _clue_ what I was thinking, obviously, if she honestly thought my sympathy was fake; if she thought that this was _convenient_ for me, that I forgot about her the rest of the time… She didn't know, and _how dare_ she try to assume she did.

If she _had_ known what my real thoughts were – the way that they were all focused around her, how I was just stupidly longing for another chance, waiting for her to heal and come back, even though by now it looked like it wasn't ever going to happen – if she knew, she wouldn't _ever_ say something like that.

A long silence fell. I stared out the window (there was a guy out there, walking his dog, who was dressed up like Sherlock Holmes or something. Tweed hat, ear-warmers, wooden _pipe_ – I do not understand New York), digging into my wallet again, this time for money to pay for our drinks, and Jess – well, I don't know what Jess was doing, because I wasn't looking, but she wasn't making any noise.

Suddenly, she said, "I gotta go," in a choked voice, and stood up, so fast that her chair fell over.

I looked up at Jess. As always, she was surprising me. "You're going?" I asked. I don't know why I was so shocked, but I guess I thought we could go somewhere – talk more – Damnit, I was mad, _yeah_, but I didn't want her to leave.

Then my gaze flicked down, and I blinked. She was holding the photo of Hannah in her hand – she had picked it up when she stood, I guess.

"I've got stuff to do," Jess said, heading for the door. "I have to practice. If I want to be first chair in the fall, I mean."

I frowned. That made no sense. "But – " I stopped, when I caught sight of Jess's face. She looked like she wanted to cry. And just get out of here.

I stood up. "All right, Jess. Whatever you say. Just… look. I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us, okay? What I said – I didn't say it to hurt you."

I was actually surprised that she didn't give me an incredulous look at that. She just nodded. "No hard feelings. And… I'm sorry I can't help you. About your sister, I mean. I'm sorry I can't…"

I know. Another stupid moment from Rob the Lovesick Idiot. But I swear, when she paused there, I held my breath. Stupid, because what did I expect her to say? Sorry she couldn't… what? Just forget the past two years, go back to how things were? She wouldn't say that. And not just because she was broken. Because she didn't love me anymore – trust me, even.

"I'm just sorry," Jess said, really sounding like she was going to cry now, and she spun and almost dashed out of the place, leaving me staring after her.

Running away. Again.

I slowly sat down and finished pulling out the last of the money to pay our bill. I put it on the table, along with a generous tip for Ann – she really didn't deserve to have to deal with our issues – and then just sat there for a long moment, staring at the table.

I blinked suddenly, eyes focusing on one spot on the table. The picture was gone. I remembered now, Jess had picked it up. And taken it with her.

I couldn't help it; I started to smile. She'd taken the picture. Of Hannah.

Maybe there was hope, after all.

* * *

**Anonymous Review Responses:**

**young: **Thanks!Well, I hope this chapter will answer some of those questions. :) Oh, and thanks for the support with the grades. Gr, why must there be school? Fanfic is so much more fun.

**bella: **Thank you, very much. :D

**Sara-san:** Ooh, two reviews, I feel honored. :) Seriously, just thanks all around. :)

**msrblatbestluvr:** Thanks, I think we all agree with you here. :)

**Alliston: **Well, I may have to bring Bitchy!Vicky out for a second here... Dude, it's not about you, okay? I love you readers, but my life does not evolve around you, and yes, I **am** that busy. **Not** slacking. --Back to normal, sorry, I just had to get that out. I know you're only asking that 'cause you like the story, as you have said... So thank you, thank you! :)

**ipodRlover:** I know, I know, sorry! :)

**Jessica: **Aw, thank you! I hope you enjoy this update. :)

**rimma:** Aye, aye, Cap'n!

**StillMe-StillOBSESSED:** Thanks! How'd the studying go? ;) Glad you enjoyed, especially the one line. :)

**bri: **Really?! I'm sorry, but that's just... awesome. Makes me giggle. :D Glad you had fun with that.

**buttercup:** Thank you... Heh, the spork line was pretty popular, huh? You're like the eight person to mention it. :D -about the end... metoometoo! I'm very excited.

**brunette-bimbo:** Nope, not Meg, though my ego is getting very puffed up about the number of people that have said that... lol. Trust me, those are **not** stalker-ish comments - just a good review, for which I thank you!

**Applesareawsome:** Gah, Bitchy!Vicky emerges (again)... OKAY LOOK, I **am** busy, and yes, it may not be fair, but hey, that's life. Deal. I have reasons. I'm not gonna abandon this story, so get over it. --And now regular-Vicky feels guilty. Again. Sorry, and I know you didn't mean it in a bad way. :) Thanks for caring, and hey, even if you got cyber-yelled-at for a second, your method seems to have worked a little. Update, right here! Sorry again, don't mean to be nasty. :)

**starbox:** Hey! Thanks, as always! And yes. It is all because of YOU that I didn't update. You didn't review, and it made me angry. Grr. *glowers* ...Yeah, kidding obviously. Thanks for being understanding, and hey... got the chance! Hope you enjoyed it - good to hear from you. :)

**updateplz: **Well... I have no clue who you are. But that's cool. I'm sorry it's been so long... and, well, you heard my reasons. I'm not giving up, never fear. :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

New chapter! Sorry, it would have been up yesterday, but FFN kept giving me error messages whenever I tried.

**Anonymous Review Responses:**

**young: **Thank **you** for being so excited about it. :) Yeah... this book is going to have the highest amount of sad-Rob, sadly. Aw, that sucks. Sorry about your dog.

**Harleylover: **Thank you! And... no. Quite apart from the fact that I just can't write lemon, I rated this story T, and plan for it to stay that way. I'll have to tastefully fade out, like Meg, I suppose. Sorry if I disappoint!

**786: **Thanks! Sorry I made you wait. Glad you enjoyed!

* * *

I was woken up the next morning by a loud, insistent thumping, which, after hitting the alarm clock a total of four times, I finally realized was coming from the door. I rolled out of bed, comforter and all, and shuffled towards the noise, mostly intent on doing whatever it took to make it stop, so I could go back to sleep.

Now, don't get me wrong – I actually am a morning person, most of the time. I generally don't need that much sleep, and I usually wake up early, around six or seven. I don't even need an alarm clock, most of the time. But today was different, and I'm sure you know why.

In my defense, I had been worried about my sister. In fact, in the three days since she'd disappeared, I really hadn't slept much at all. I'd been too upset, understandably. And then, when I got in to New York, I pretty much got a hotel room, and then went straight to visit Jess, and we all know how _that_ turned out. So, following the intense emotional rollercoaster of an evening – oh, right, _that_ was the phrase – I was even more stressed, and dwelling on the past, and lovesick and all that, so I (again, understandably) had some trouble getting to sleep.

And, no. Before you ask: I did not go out and get drunk, or anything. That's really not helpful in any way, and besides, I had been planning to visit Jess again. And dealing with both Jess, _and_ a hangover? The mere _thought_ is frightening.

No, I just stayed up really late watching brainless TV, although when the action movies stopped and the infomercials began, I finally made myself go to sleep. Still, it made for a very tired and pretty much incoherent reaction when I was forcibly woken at eight in the morning.

Anyway, I shuffled over and swung the door open, trying not to yawn. If I had been more awake, I probably would have wondered who was knocking on my door, since no one knew where I was staying except for Chick, back home, and I highly doubt he would come up here. For one thing, he has airplane-phobia (he just rides motorcycles or his truck everywhere, even across the country – not that he travel cross-country that much) and so wouldn't be able to get there that fast, and for another, I left him at my house in case Hannah came back home while I was in New York.

But as it was, I just opened it wide – revealing Jess on the other side. Now, that definitely sped up the waking process. "Jess," I said in confusion. "What are you– how did you–?"

The extended version of these questions would of course be, _what are you doing here?_ and _how did you find me?_ which Jess completely ignored, as per form.

She grinned. "Nice hair."

I reached up and tried to squish down my bed-head, for a moment feeling unusually embarrassed. I mean, not that I'm usually obsessed with my appearance, or anything, but, you know, it was just a little awkward.

I blinked hard, trying to wake up faster. "Wait. How did you know where to find me?"

Jess shrugged. "I called your house." I didn't have time to really absorb the implications of that – she still remembered my phone number? – before she went on. "Why? Were you trying to keep a low profile? Because Chick was more than happy to tell me where you were staying."

"No," I said, confused. "No, it's okay. I asked Chick to stay there in case Hannah turned up while I was gone. I just…" I stopped, realizing Jess was still just standing in the hallway. "Sorry. I'm not really awake. Here. Come in."

I led her into the room, talking as I went. "You want some breakfast? I can order us up some pancakes if you want." I blinked, as my eyes suddenly focused in on a little alcove I hadn't noticed at all the night before. "Oh, hey, there's a coffeemaker. Want some coffee?"

"Sure," Jess said, and I moved over to start making some. I was just trying to focus on waking up. Not on what she was doing here. She made me off-balance enough when I was in full control of my brain; I didn't even want to try understanding what was going on until I no longer had the urge to yawn. "But it would be simpler just to have it at the airport."

See? That's what I'm talking about, that right there.

I looked at her, blankly repeating, "Airport?" in confusion.

"Airport," Jess confirmed, her hands coming up to hug herself around her sides. "Do you want me to find your sister, or not?"

It was clear that she wasn't going to give me any chance at all to catch up with her. "Well, yeah," I said, utterly lost, "But I thought – "

"Then I need to go back to Indiana with you," Jess interrupted calmly.

I turned fully around to look at her, feeling disturbingly off-kilter. "But… But I thought you said… I mean, yesterday you told me – "

I know, I know. The night before, when I'd noticed that Jess had kept Hannah's yearbook picture, I felt hopeful. But the thing about time – even just one night – is that it makes it very easy to fall back onto doubts. Especially at night. I had been sure, in the restaurant, that Jess was wrong, that she did still have her powers, that she was broken – but as soon as I arrived back at the Hilton and got up into my room, I was already doubting myself, thinking _well, what do __**I**__ know?_ I pretty much became convinced, in between explosions on TV, that Jess had been telling the truth.

She hugged her arms closer to herself when I reminded her about the night before, looking uncomfortable, and interrupted me – something she obviously does with slightly annoying regularity. "I know what I said yesterday."

"But – "

"Don't talk about it, okay?" Jess asked. She dropped her hands to her sides. "Let's just go."

God, I really needed that coffee.

I ran a hand through my hair, closing my eyes for a second, and taking a deep breath. Then I looked at Jess. "Okay. But… You know where she is?"

I know, stupid question. Why else would she show up at my hotel room, wanting to come back to Indiana with me?

…Okay, why else would she _plausibly_ show up, wanting to come back with me?

"I seriously don't want to talk about it," Jess said, looking at the floor. "Can we just go?"

She looked weird, almost – almost _haunted_, and it suddenly hit me: If I really was right, about her being broken and still having her powers – and it seemed I was – then what were the effects – psychologically, emotionally, whatever – of me basically just _yelling _at her, until I made her realize she still had them? She definitely hadn't just suddenly healed herself overnight – but I'd done something, last night, that brought her powers back, and I had no idea what that was like.

"Honest to God, Jess," I said, suddenly feeling very belatedly guilty, and kind of sad. "I didn't mean for– I mean, I just thought this whole thing with you saying you can't find people anymore was to get out of having to work for that Cyrus guy." – _If I sound like I don't remember him, she won't realize how much I'd enjoy flaying him for making her like this._ – "Like it was last time. I didn't know it was real. I don't want you to do anything you aren't ready for. I don't want to… to disrupt this new life you've built for yourself."

Well, that was sort of true. I mean, the first part – that I thought it was all fake – was true, or had been, anyway, before I got here and talked to her. Then I just thought that _she_ thought her powers were gone – correctly, as it turns out.

But that last bit? About how I didn't want to disrupt her new life? Yeah, that was a complete and utter lie. Of _course_ I wanted to disrupt her life – I wanted to get in there and rip her out of it and give her back the old one, the one where she'd been in love with me and I'd been ready to–

Yeah. I guess it wasn't _total_ lies – I _hadn't_ been going to disrupt her life, until this thing with Hannah, no matter how much I might want to. But I definitely did want to – and it was pointless to say that, anyway, since the damage was already done. There was no going back now.

I could see that in Jess's eyes, but she didn't say anything, just smiled tightly at me.

"Look," she said, tough. "Do you want your sister back or not?"

I nodded like a… a thing that nods a lot. Maybe a bobble-head, I don't know. "I do. Of course."

"Then don't question," Jess said. "Just do."

I wanted to make a joke about her obviously picking up some traits from all the soldiers she'd hung out with in the past couple years, but it wouldn't have been funny and would have made things a lot more uncomfortable, so I just nodded, and reached for the phone. "Sure. Sure, I'll call and book you a seat on the same return flight I've got. We'll go right after I've had a shower."

"Great."

Actually, I had been going to call and cancel that flight anyway, so that I could stay for another day, and maybe try to convince Jess to help me again – not to mention, I clearly would have slept right through my flight if Jess hadn't come knocking – so the number was ready by the phone. I didn't have any trouble getting Jess a seat… specifically the one next to mine… and then I went and took a quick shower, and we left for the airport.

Just like that. When Jess wants something done – it pretty much gets done, and fast.

We didn't really talk, even when we stopped after airport security and I bought us breakfast – me something that was meant to be a waffle, and her an orange juice and an egg-and-sausage biscuit – not even when, after a short wait, we got on the tiny plane back to Indiana. We just sat there in silence. Jess read the in-flight magazine – barely finishing it before we landed – and I, well, I just sat there and thought.

It was going to be weird. I mean, it was _already_ weird seeing Jess, and it hurt – but it was going to be so much worse, back home. We'd be in the places where we had been, when we'd gone out. Or where we'd fought off murderers or hunted down kids together; whichever.

And it was going to hurt a lot more, seeing Jess in those places, where I had all those (arguably) happy memories.

The first hurdle occurred right after we got off the plane. Neither of us had any luggage that we had to wait for, so it wasn't very long until we were walking out into the sunlight, and the parking lot.

And to my Indian.

Jess's face when she saw it parked there, it was – the only word I can find is _stricken_. Just, stricken.

"Sorry," I said, "I didn't think you'd be coming back with me. We can rent a car, if you want."

Jess seemed to shake herself out of it after a moment, saying, "No. No, it's fine. Do you still have the spare helmet?"

Yes. Yes, of course I still had _her_ helmet. I mean, not that I ever gave it to her, or said it was hers, or anything. But no one else had ever used it, and that's what I had been calling it in my head for years now: Jess's helmet.

It was, as expected, weird, driving down those streets with Jess's familiar weight on the Indian behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist. But, also expected, it was… really nice.

What? I'm in love with her, and I hadn't even held her hand in two years – well, excluding when I put my hand on hers in the restaurant the night before – am I not allowed to savor a little contact? I think I have that right.

All things aside, it was good to be home. I know I'd only been gone one day, but… I just don't see why Jess would prefer New York over here. For one thing, it's just so much _nicer_ looking here – no huge gray buildings covered in pigeon poop. And, it's just _home_. I've never really liked traveling – I've always been content where I was.

At the red light in front of the courthouse, it occurred to me that I had no clue what our destination was – that was why Jess was here, after all – and turned my head to ask. "Where to?"

"My house," she said, "I need to drop my stuff off."

Okay, fair enough. I knew the way… very well. It wasn't long until we were there; I coasted to a stop in her driveway. Jess hopped off and took off her helmet; I followed suit. All that was fine. Fine by me. It made sense that Jess wanted to drop off her stuff – perfect sense. No, what I didn't like was what she said immediately after.

"I'll call you later," Jess told me, "Will you be at home or at the garage?"

Now – what went wrong there? What did I do… or say… what _happened?_ We were supposed to be getting Hannah. And anyway, why was she letting whatever I had done – though I hadn't noticed anything – stop her? That wasn't fair to me, never mind Hannah.

"What about – " I asked, but didn't finish.

Jess cut me off, voice hard. "I said I'll call you." She didn't look angry, exactly, which was why I hesitated before responding. She looked… like she was trying to tell me something. I had no idea what that might be, but… I couldn't exactly force her to tell me where Hannah was, and trying would probably just end up in another fight.

"Fine," I said, and shoved my helmet on. "Call me at home. That's where I'll be. I should check to see – I mean, maybe she came back by now."

Jess shook her head. "She didn't."

I looked at her for a moment. She _knew_ where Hannah was. I should probably still be mad that she wasn't telling me – but to be honest, my anger was fading fast. It was replaced by a desire to – well, to say something to her about the other issue that primarily occupied my mind. Us.

I almost wanted to – to confess my love to her, or something, right there. It was ridiculous, completely – I knew that.

And that was why, instead of saying something, or doing something, anything – like I almost desperately wanted to – I just said, again, "Fine. See you later."

Then I turned around and drove off, speeding up in an effort to get out of there as fast as I could.

I had been right; it was weird being back. Even weirder being back, with Jess, at her house. It… brought back memories, and urges, that I could no longer act on. It made me feel younger, three years younger, in fact, and I really wanted to call her Mastriani again.

I didn't, though, as I told you. I knew better than that.

I just drove home, and hoped that Jess would call soon – and lead me to Hannah.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, so, you know what I said, not so long ago? About how I wasn't mad at Jess, you know. Yeah, well, that really lasted once I wasn't looking at her. Lasted about… two blocks.

Now considering that, following speed limits (which, okay, I never do) it's a good thirty-five minute drive from Jess's house to mine, you can probably imagine how my anger grew. In the fifteen minutes it took me to get home (what, I told you I didn't follow them. And besides, I was angry, so I drove faster – but safely, I swear) I went from worried and longing to, well, furious.

"Who does she think she is?" Was my greeting to Chick as I slammed the front door open, stomping inside. "I mean, this is my _missing sister_ we're talking about, here, not just some random person out there, and she could be in trouble. What _right_ does Jess have to make me _wait?_"

I went on in that vein for about five more minutes before it occurred to me that I was venting to an empty house. Looking around for Chick, I found no trace of him (and here I'm discounting the remnants, left on the kitchen counters, of whatever Chick called snacks and normal people called meals) except for a note left on the dining room table. Apparently, Chick had to go to work, and since Jess had called, he figured we'd be back with Hannah soon anyway, so I should give him a call when that all got sorted out.

I swear, if he'd been able to wink and nudge me on paper, he would have. He actually _underlined_ "when you and the little lady get back".

I rolled my eyes and threw the note in the trash. Only Chick.

However, reading the note had calmed me down a little bit. Don't get me wrong, my mood-swings hadn't gotten to the point where I was suddenly all joyful or anything – I was still pretty angry – but it finally occurred to me that maybe Jess actually _had_ had a reason for sending me away like this.

And that it was probably linked to the whole just-got-her-powers-back thing. And the being broken thing. And possibly even the me-being-around thing. Okay, time to face it: it was really all one big _thing_, a huge compilation of a bunch of separate issues, none of which was insignificant, and all of which combined was going to make any sort of interaction Jess and I had difficult. Especially interaction of the psychic mission type.

I got this. I did. And, you know, I respected that, and I loved Jess, and I didn't _want_ to pressure her or make things difficult, but…

I walked upstairs, pushing open the door that had led to my bedroom for nineteen years of my life; for the past week, it had been Hannah's.

This was my _sister_. I don't think I can stress that point enough – my _sister_. Hannah. I had never thought I had a sibling, or any family really, besides my mom – I mean immediate family, and my dad just… he doesn't count – and then here was this sister just out of the blue, and even though I'd only even known about her for, what, a week and a half? – I loved her.

I mean it. I _loved_ Hannah, so much. She was – well, apart from Chick, she became my only real friend, and even more than that, she was my sister, so much like me, and yet also like Jess at her age. I have to admit, even though it's totally messed up… occasionally I imagined what it would be like if Jess and I had kids like Hannah some day. And I could just see her visiting, being the cool Aunt that let them stay up late when she babysat, and… I worked her into this whole fantasy life I had in my head, not to mention real life. I would go to work, and all day I would be looking forward to getting out; picking her up and going back to town, stopping by the comic store for a chat with Doug and to pick up a new Spider-Man comic on the way, then heading out for a while, just driving around and talking. Getting back and cooking Italian food, or as close as we could successfully make it from a really old cookbook that Mom left here, and eating it while we watched _The Simpsons_. We'd stay up half the night, talking, catching up, and I'd really thought everything had been great. Amazing. It had been the first time I'd really connected with anyone other than Jess or Chick or my mom, and it was amazing. I just… I had so much _fun_ being a brother; being _Hannah_'s brother.

And then she'd just gone. No trace, the police couldn't find anything, and I had no _idea_ what had happened to her.

So, yeah, I was trying to be understanding. Jess was going through a lot. But, honestly, I was still angry as hell at her, because I just wanted my sister back, and she was delaying that process, when she could have been speeding it up.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring in at Hannah's bedroom, though I know that it was a long time; the light had shifted outside a bit. But eventually I snapped out of it, and left, trying to distract myself. It didn't turn out too well; the whole suspense thing kind of got in the way of any activities I attempted, stopping me from focusing on TV, my book, even working on the latest motorcycle I was restoring. I had just gone back into the house to attempt to waste a few more minutes in front of the television, away from the Indian and its temptation to go find Jess and demand that she take me to Hannah, when the phone rang. I went to answer it in the kitchen, just catching it before it went to the answering machine. "Hello?"

"Hello? Rob?" The woman on the other end sounded kind of anxious, and it took me a moment to place her.

"Gwen? Hey," I said, absentmindedly beginning to clean up Chick's refuse from the countertops. "I was just going to call you."

"So you found her?" Gwen sounded extremely relieved, and I felt kind of bad for getting her hopes up. I had completely misjudged the woman – not that it had been my fault. In the few long phone calls we had since Hannah had disappeared, we'd learned that we had both been very misinformed about the other person, though I have to give Hannah credit: just like any good liar, she based her fibs on the truth. Gwen wasn't exactly the most committed woman, and I – well, I'll save that for later. But even so, it had been blown way out of proportion, leaving me thinking that this was less some sort of kidnapping than it was Hannah using me to run away.

But I didn't like that idea, and besides, I was worried, whether or not it was true, so I ignored the suspicion for the moment. All I was concentrated on was getting her back.

"Rob?" Gwen's voice, through the telephone line, brought me out of my trance, "Is Hannah there? What's going on?"

"No. No, sorry, she's not here yet, but – " I tossed the last empty sandwich bag into the trash and, with nothing else left to clean, began to pace in the limited space. I really should have gotten a new, cordless phone when I redid the house, but… Even though it was annoying as hell, I was kind of attached to this old one. I had a cell phone if I wanted to talk on the go, anyway. " – um, Jess is here. In town, I mean, not here. She'll find her. They should be here any minute now."

There was a short pause. Gwen, though having heard all about Lightning Girl back in her famous days, wasn't quite as trusting in Jess's abilities as I was, especially since she wasn't supposed to even have them anymore.

"Look," I said, "Trust me. Mastriani's going to find her, okay? She already knows where, I'm just waiting – " I was interrupted, right then, by the front door opening, and I turned towards it in surprise, interrupting myself after a mildly humiliating moment of staring in shock, induced by the sight of Jess tugging a reluctant Hannah into my living room.

"Gwen? Yeah. She just walked in."

"Hannah? Where was she? Is she okay?" Gwen asked, sounding teary.

"I don't know. No, she looks fine," I said, trying to both keep up with the conversation and stare at Hannah and Jess standing in front of me; my two favorite women in the world (discounting my mother), home with me. And, okay, Hannah looked extremely guilty, and kind of like she'd rather be anywhere but here, and Jess wasn't exactly here of her own free will, but still. They were _here_.

"Oh my god, she's okay," I heard Gwen saying to herself, before she said, to me again, "Let me talk to her. Give her the phone, okay? I just want to talk to her."

"Yeah," I agreed, holding the phone out to Hannah, trying to sound nonchalant, as I told her, "Your mother wants to talk to you, Han."

I guess I did sound indifferent, or maybe it was the mention of her mother that did it, but as soon as I got those words out, Hannah just started sobbing. She spun and ran up the stairs without a word, and a second later, I heard a door slam. Jess and I kind of just stared after her, and after a moment I looked at Jess, blinking my confusion. She just rolled her eyes. After a brief hesitation, not understanding Hannah's behaviour, I slowly lifted the phone back to my ear.

"Gwen? Yeah. She's a little… upset. Let me go talk to her. Then I'll call you back."

"Oh – all right, okay. Just – call back soon, okay? I… I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Bye." I hung the phone on its hook on the wall, without really thinking, and then ended up just staring at Jess some more. She had brought Hannah back.

Jess shrugged, nodding up at the direction from which we could hear Hannah's loud sobbing. "She's in love."

_She's in __**lo**_ – "But she's all right?" I asked, controlling the instinct to get very angry. And also stopping myself from correctly linking that sentence to what, exactly, it might have to with Hannah's four-day disappearance.

"Physically," Jess said. "I think a little visit to the ob-gyn might be in order."

I might have been able to momentarily block out the implications of 'love', but the words _ob-gyn_ had me sinking weakly into a chair, staring at the fruit bowl in the middle of the table, and trying to control my gag reflex.

"Thank you, Jess," I said absently, paralyzed by the words, their full meaning not really penetrating yet.

Jess didn't respond, staying silent for a long moment, allowing me to count three apples and a single browning banana in the carved wooden fruit bowl. The bowl had been a housewarming gift from my Uncle Gary. Well, actually, from his new wife Anne, because no-one else would bother to give me a housewarming gift when I'd already lived in the place my whole life. But Anne insisted that since I had just bought it, I deserved a gift. She's a really sweet lady.

"You got any soda or something?" Jess asked.

"In the fridge," I responded, still without looking up from the fruit bowl. The carvings around the side were of leaves, and I think maybe grapes. It had actually come as part of a larger pack of stuff, basically a fruit basket-type thing, but with more than just fruit. Jess disappeared for a while, reemerging into my sight with two Cokes in her hands, one of which she put down in front of me before sitting down across from me, opening her own.

Love. Ob-gyn. These were bad words to associate with Hannah.

"Where'd you get the money for all this?" Jess asked, apparently having gotten over the limitations of polite society that had restricted her from asking this the night before. I'd been wondering how long it would take.

I finally looked away from the (hand-carved) fruit bowl, popping open my Coke. "Dentists."

"Dentists?"

I nodded, taking a long drink and consciously choosing to shelve any contemplation of what Hannah may have been doing in favor of this much less mentally damaging conversation. "Sorry," I said, about being so confusing, and further explained, setting down my soda, "Yeah, dentists. They're about the only people who can afford Harleys anymore. Well, and retired doctors. And lawyers."

"I get it," Jess said, sounding kind of pleased. "You've been buying old bikes, fixing them up, and selling them?"

"Right," I said, then quoted something that I had been told by my uncle which had always sounded kind of stupid to me (not that the sentiment was false, just the way he'd phrased it): "The market for antique bikes is incredibly hot right now."

"That's great," Jess said, and it might have been my imagination, but I think she actually meant it. "The place looks… The place looks really nice."

I grimaced, looking up the stairs. Try as I might, I couldn't shut the sobbing out. It was loud. "Not nice enough, apparently."

"Yeah. About that." Jess glanced away, looking kind of awkward. "She lied to you, you know."

"About what was going on with her mom?" I asked. "I know. Now. Gwen – that's her mom – and I have been talking. Hannah snowed us both pretty good, it looks like. She told Gwen I was suicidal over a girl and that I'd begged her to come stay with me a few weeks to help give me a reason for living."

See? Total exaggeration. I was far from suicidal, even if I wasn't exactly singing for joy lately… and I had _not_ begged anything.

"She met him on the Internet," Jess said, and then went on to describe a man who, despite not knowing what he looked like, I was picturing punching and breaking the nose of on a repeating loop the whole time she spoke. Well, actually, the further in she got, the more violent the images got.

"I'll kill him," I said, calmly, once she finished telling me how the fucking twenty-_seven_ year-old asshole that went by the name of 'Randy' had snowed my little sister as badly as she'd snowed me, had made her think she loved him, and had fucking _compromised her virtue_, had actually – with my _little sister_ – the guy…

Oh, he was _so_ going down.

"Well, you may have to stand in line," Jess said, then proceeded to explain how much more this Randy deserved to be punched apart into several easily manageable pieces, by way of relating how he had cheated on my sister with another girl. Also underage – his death was going to be bloody. "I don't think Hannah's taking off is going to upset him for long. Looked to me like he had plenty of other young things to choose from."

Mention of Hannah's name snapped me out of my homicidal daydreams, and I met Jess's gaze worriedly. "I don't want Hannah to have to deal with cops and testifying and things like that. I mean… she's only fifteen years old."

I didn't mention how Jess had been not much older than that when she first got her psychic powers and not only had deal with 'cops and testifying and things like that', but was assigned her very own Federal Agents and had to escape from the military base in which they had locked her up. It seemed like a really long time ago, even though it had just been three years.

"I thought that's how you might feel about it," Jess said, avoiding my gaze, instead reaching for some papers lying on her side of the table. "Hey. What's this?"

She held them up, and I deliberately took another sip of my soda, speaking casually. I could not let Jess see how significant this was. Not now.

"My fall class schedule," I said, standing and moving towards the kitchen. "I've been taking night classes. You want another soda?"

"Sure," Jess said absently, looking over the papers. "Geez, Rob," she said after a moment. "You own the garage, fix up old bikes, AND go to college part-time? And you thought that you'd just add a teen kid sister to all of that?"

I closed the fridge door a little too hard, gritting my teeth. "I had it under control. At least – "

"Until the kid sister came along," Jess agreed. "Still. What were you thinking?"

I walked back to the table. "I didn't think she'd be… well, the way she is." Not that she's not great. Except for the lying and using me as a launching pad to shack up with her dead man walking boyfriend Randy. But hey, everyone has faults, right?

I handed Jess the soda, and she took it, asking, "What'd you THINK she'd be like?"

I shrugged, looking away. "I thought she'd be more like you."

Jess choked on her Coke.

"ME?" She gaped. "Oh my God, you have to be kidding me. I was the biggest pain in the ass in the world when I was her age."

"That's not how I remember it," I said, with some reluctance, because, okay, Jess had always been extremely annoying, true. But in a good way, and the kissing definitely made up for a lot.

"Yeah? Well, you can ask my parents," Jess said, and I shook my head.

"You weren't like Hannah. I mean, yeah, you got in trouble. But it was for punching people, not shacking up with guys you met on the Internet. You would never have…"

I couldn't finish the sentence. Not only because I quite simply could _not_ make myself say those words about Hannah, but also because I felt kind of guilty. I was being kind of nasty towards Hannah.

Then again, I'd never have thought she'd be so freaking stupid as to actually fall for the sort of crap this guy must have been spouting. What the hell had she been thinking? Oh, no, I wasn't angry at her.

I was _furious_.

"Well…" Jess said, after a long, awkward pause, in which the only sound was Hannah's wracking sobbing from above, "I better go. I'm sure Mom's got dinner ready by now."

"Sure," I said, standing up again. "I'll walk you out."

Then we were out the door, walking across the grass, to a blue bike I remembered. I couldn't help but grin as I saw it, and all the Jess-related emotions I was experiencing – which I had briefly forgotten in the face of Hannah returning home – came rushing right back.

"She's a beauty," I nodded at the bike.

Jess grinned. "Blue Beauty," she corrected, and I actually wasn't even surprised that she'd named her bike. I had kind of expected it, way back when.

"She runs good?" I asked, still in my happy moment about the bike, even though it was a silly thing to be happy about. She didn't even know.

"Like a kitten," Jess grinned.

I chuckled. "I can't believe somebody ever gave you a license."

The moment was great. Like a flashback. No awkwardness whatsoever for once, and I really liked bikes in that moment.

But then it was over. When Jess said, "One of the few perks of working for the government."

It wasn't meant to be a reminder, I could see that. It was supposed to be an innocent continuation of the banter. But all it did was remind me of the government – Krantz – the war – our break-up – everything.

The smile dropped right off my face. "Right," I said, not meeting Jess's eyes. "Well. Thank you. I mean, for bringing her back."

Jess looked at me, kind of sad and guilty, like in the restaurant, and said, like in the restaurant, "I'm sorry."

And just like in the restaurant, I was left wondering what, exactly, she meant by that. Only this time, I asked. "Sorry? For what?"

"For," Jess said, then paused, staring up at me. "For all that stuff I said to you last night," she finally finished. "For acting like such a total – um, überbitch, is how I believe your sister put it."

I froze.

She was sorry. About what she'd said. About how she'd viewed me? She thought she'd been wrong? She was sorry.

I might have a chance. Maybe. She was sorry, though. And if she was sorry, at least maybe I could tell her my side; maybe this was _it_, what I'd been waiting for…

I put my hand over hers, where it was resting on the gearshift. "Jess," I said. I don't know what I was going to say next. I don't know what I was going to start, or if it would be a huge mistake or our saving grace.

I don't know because I never got the chance to continue. Something crashed in Hannah's room, followed by her screaming angrily. Jess swallowed. "You'd better go deal with that."

I know; Hannah. But she still wasn't exactly welcoming, and I… I just took it in what was probably the right way. She hadn't been saying what I hoped she'd been saying. Or at least, this was not the time for me to get into it.

"Yeah," I said, and let go of her hand, looking up at Hannah's window. "I guess I better." And then, because she _might_ have meant what I thought she did, and even if she didn't, the mere _possibility_ was enough – I added, "Listen. Will you call me this time? Before you go back to New York?"

Jess didn't answer for a second, and anxious not to scare her off, I quickly added, "So we can talk about what we're going to do about Randy, I mean." In all honesty, I had kind of forgotten about him for a moment, despite the fact that just a minute ago, I had been mentally mummifying him alive. Hey, when you think – even for a brief, misunderstood second – that the girl you love is possibly going to take you back, or at least be open to headway on that route – you get distracted. Other stuff, even extremely important stuff such as finding a medieval Rack for your sister's boyfriend, falls to the wayside. I'd mentally add in some extra punching to make up for it.

"Sure," Jess said, smiling awkwardly. Another moment, lost. "See ya."

"See ya," I returned, and turned away before something else could pop the soap-bubble hope I'd gained from that conversation. It was far too delicate to mess with. I just wanted to savor it for a little bit, before it was inevitably crushed.

I walked slowly, straining my ears, and after a little while, I eventually heard the engine of Jess's Blue Beauty starting up. I couldn't help but smile, again. She was riding my bike.

I didn't look back as I heard her drive away, because if I wasn't watching her, I could pretend she had looked back at me.

I slowed, too, when I heard her leaving, and eventually, when the sound of her engine died away into the distance, I still stood there, staring at my front door.

Hannah screamed again from upstairs, loud and piercing, and I looked up sharply, my priorities instantly shifting.

_It's tough on a guy, dealing with both of these huge issues at the same time_, I thought, as I reluctantly went inside, slowly climbing the stairs. _They keep shifting around and you can't get a grasp on either one_.

I took a deep breath, staring at Hannah's door, all thoughts of Jess fleeing my mind to be replaced with my sister and her problems.

Then, as something else smashed inside, I knocked on her door.

* * *

I'm sorry, guys. I wrote responses to all of your indivual anonymous reviews, as well as a nice AN, but then FFN timed out before I could save, and I'm just too exhausted to do it again. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

So... It's been a while, huh? Heh, please don't kill me. My excuses are as follows: lost book again, broken laptop, really busy, lost inspiration briefly (I'm back, I swear!). Yeah, I know, not good enough, but... it's all I've got. Anyway, I'll let you all get on to the actual chapter now, shall I? You've waited long enough, god knows.

Oh, wait. Warning - Rob isn't particularly nice in this chapter. In fact, he's kind of mean. But I think it was realistic, and honestly, what was running through my head the whole time I wrote this was actually, "Wow, Rob would make a good dad!" So it's not a malicious thing, it's more protective. I hope that comes across. Now, read on!

* * *

The room was a mess. Not that that was anything unusual - it had always been one of the things that Hannah and I did _not_ have in common, though as long as she kept it confined to her bedroom, I didn't care - but somehow, today it was (or maybe just seemed) even messier than usual. Half-empty chip bags on the floor, her blankets and pillows strewn off the bed, what I guessed had to be all of her toiletries and makeup thrown around; all over the near-complete carpet of her clothes (dirty or clean, I'm not sure. It was probably a mix of both, since the drawers of her dresser were hanging open) that left only a few small places of the original hardwood floor visible - honestly, I had no idea she had so much stuff - and one of those few places was even worse. The lamp that had previously sat on the table next to her bed now lay there, the bulb and part of the stand smashed from what must have been the impact with the floor when she threw it. Clearly, that had been the source of the first smash. I looked around for the cause of the second and noticed that the framed photo of Hannah and her mother, which had also sat next to the bed, was missing; though I didn't see where it had landed, I had no doubt that this was the item that had smashed, only moments before, and that it was in pieces somewhere on the floor.

My gaze moved on from the room to its occupant, who - to be frank - was even _more _of a mess. Her brightly colored hair a mess, face a bright, splotchy red with matching tear-streaks down each cheek, sniffing every few seconds, arms crossed over chest, Hannah was clearly not a happy camper. But she was all right - I'm talking physically, here, because honestly, at that moment I had never doubted anyone's sanity more. Not even Jess in some of her worse (though she would insist they were her better) moments. Anyway, after carefully looking her over and making sure that what Jess had told me about her physical condition was true - she was perfectly fine - my frantic worry, constant companion for the last couple of days, finally abated. As a parting gift, it left behind a growing wave of sincere, extreme anger, an anger that didn't give a crap how obviously upset Hannah was. An anger that wanted her even _more_ upset, until she understood what she had done, an anger that wanted her begging for my forgiveness. An anger that jumped right into it without even a 'hello, how have you been while shacking up with your overage pedophile boyfriend? Me, I was great. Not worried at _all_.' Because the only thought that was running through my head at the moment was, well...

_That selfish little __**bitch.**_

So I began, using the ferocious, deep tone of my voice that had somehow always managed to scare everyone into listening to me, from the guys in detention way back when to the same guys at the garage today, to even Jess on occasion: "What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?"

Hannah, though, didn't quake in her boots or even look fazed, really. I shouldn't be surprised. She had always been fiery - yet another one of the things about her that had reminded me of Jess, actually. But even _Jess_ would have been ashamed at this point - not that she ever would have gotten _to_ this point. It was as if a veil had been lifted from my eyes. Hannah might be amazing at times - but she was still just a kid, and way more childish than Jess had ever been. I'd kind of known that all along - but I still never would have thought that after all of this, she would actually feel justified enough to _argue_ with me.

Apparently, I was wrong.

"Oh, screw you!" Hannah shouted, venom shooting from her eyes and laced in her voice, "You're not my dad, just leave me alone!"

I don't like it when people bring up my dad on the best of days. But now? Like this? "No," I snarled, "I'm not your dad. _Our _dad's locked up - but I _am_ your _brother_, the one you screwed off to run away with some dumb-"

"Randy's not dumb!" Hannah shrieked, but I ignored her.

"-some dumb, _overage_, player you found _online_, of all places. Are you crazy, Han? I mean really, are you just stupid? Do you have _any idea_ of what he could have done to you - what he _did_ do to you? It's illegal for a _reason_, Hannah." Here I paused for a moment, almost guilty, until I reminded myself that the two-year difference in age between sixteen and eighteen had nothing on a relationship between a sixteen year-old and someone who was twenty-seven. I mean, that's _twelve years_. Had Gwen asked and young Randy needed money, he could have babysat her while she still wore diapers. It was just _wrong. _I shook my head. "That's sick, Hannah."

Okay, so that last comment had probably gone too far, judging by the way her entire face paled, then reddened even more than before. But still, when she said, "I don't have to explain our relationship to you, or anyone else. Randy said we met in a previous life - our love transcends age, we're soul mates -"

Well, when I heard that, I couldn't help but laugh. Or snort really, disbelievingly. "He fed you that crap and you actually _believed _him? What happened to you, Han? I thought you were smart. We both know he only wanted one thing."

If my earlier comment had _probably_ crossed the line, that definitely did. Even I knew it, and I would have apologized, had Hannah not flared back up with a high-pitched shout of, "SHUT UP! You're wrong, both you AND that bitch! We're in LOVE! You're both LYING!"

I didn't know what exactly Hannah and Jess had talked about, or even how Jess managed to convince her to come back here, but there was no doubt that 'that bitch' was Mastriani. Especially since Jess had already mentioned that Hannah had called her an 'überbitch'. It shouldn't have surprised me, to hear her insult Jess. I should have expected it at some point in the conversation, but I hadn't, and it only fueled my anger. I didn't comment on it, though, because I knew that wouldn't do anything - Hannah was stubbornly defending this guy, no matter what I said. Maybe attacking the issue from another direction would have the result I was looking for - which, I'm ashamed to say, was at that moment just hurting Hannah. After all the hell she had put me through, it felt only fair. And again, I was just too mad to care.

"Sure," I drawled disbelievingly, "Fine, you're 'in love'. I believe it. But hey, let's not just focus on you. I know how completely _un_-self-centered you are, after all. I mean, isn't that why you tricked your mom and I, with no regard to either of our feelings or the possibility that I, thinking she was an unfit mother, might report her to the authorities - or that she, when you went missing, might suspect me and do the same? Because you're so considerate of others, so mature?"

The sarcasm in my voice was strong enough to kill an elephant, and Hannah visibly winced; though she had opened her mouth to retort at first, she stopped without making a sound, and it was clear I'd managed to reach her somewhat. Maybe if I hadn't been so angry, I would have used that to my advantage.

Maybe, when Hannah then proceeded to say, "Rob, I - " well, maybe she was about to apologize. Maybe we could have aired things out a bit, made things better, if I had just let her finish that sentence.

But come on, since when do I do the smart thing?

"I don't want to hear it," I said, holding up a hand to stop her. "In fact, I don't want to hear _anything_ from you right now - none of that shrieking or yelling, and definitely not you throwing my shit around. What I _do_ want" - I bent down and tossed one of her pillows back onto the bed - "is for you to stop acting like a five year-old, and clean this up - especially all that broken glass. Don't expect to get out of this room until you do. If you even try, I'm gonna lock you in."

I turned around, heading for the door (at some point in the yelling match, I'd advanced into her room; since I had no clue where the broken picture-frame was, I was glad I was still wearing my boots) only to stop once I reached it, glancing back. "Oh, yeah. You might as well start packing while you're at it. As soon as your mom gets here, you're going home."

With these parting words, I stepped out into the hallway, firmly closing the door behind me (it wasn't a slam, though just barely). For a moment, I just stood there listening, the tension building - then Hannah let out a frustrated roar, and something hit the wall with a soft _thump_. It sounded like a book or a folder or something. I almost went back in, but no other noises followed, except for the resumption of her sobs, so she was presumably done throwing things. And at least her crying this time was relatively quiet, without any of the loud screams of before; in fact, once I got downstairs I could barely hear it, for which I was grateful.

Once I reached the kitchen - and the phone in it - I just stood there for a long moment, clenching my fists and trying to breathe steady.

I felt like a total bastard.

The anger had drained out of me practically as soon as I slammed (um, shut firmly) that door, leaving behind only a relieved sort of horror. Relieved because Hannah _was_ back - and horrified because of how I had acted, what I'd said.

Maybe Hannah had deserved some of that - but surely not all of it. A lot of this was _my _fault. Not Hannah doing what she had - even I couldn't try to blame myself for that, especially since it had been put into motion before she even contacted me - but my letting her get away with it. I'd just expected too much of her. I looked at her and saw a whole range of people - a mini-Jess, the future Aunt Hannah, the sibling I'd always sort of wanted, the perfect long-lost sister, just like me - but not the one she really was: just a sixteen year-old girl, still a kid. She was far from perfect, and I shouldn't have ever expected any different.

Okay, so logically I knew that even that shouldn't make me as guilty as I felt - the only thing I'd really done wrong was the way I'd just talked to her upstairs, and even that could probably be excused because of how used I felt, and how worried I'd been. But Hannah couldn't be blamed entirely, either. She was just a kid, I now recognized that, and she'd made a mistake. But where _could _I put the blame - I needed someone to blame.

God, my - my head was just too full. I couldn't think. There was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to just go out to the barn and work on one of my bikes - just melt away, take a break from all of this.

But I couldn't.

Even though Hannah was back and things seemed like they might be okay (on that score, at least) there was no way I could relax yet. First and foremost, I had to call Gwen. She was waiting eagerly, I had no doubt, and I'd promised to call her, to let her know her daughter was all right. I couldn't leave her hanging any longer, she didn't deserve that, I _knew _it - but I just couldn't make myself pick up the phone. I stood next to it, staring at it for what felt like forever, just trying to muster up the energy to dial.

Eventually I did, leaning my head on the wall and closing my eyes as I waited for her to pick up. It only took one and a half rings, confirming my suspicions that Gwen had just been standing by, this whole time.

"Rob?" Gwen asked, and I began to explain.

It was a long, awkward conversation, that I don't really want to relate to you (honestly, just think about the information I had to impart, and _then_ think about me having to say it once - no way am I going over it again). Still, I did get through it, and two good things came out of it.

One, Gwen would be driving down as soon as it was light the next morning (she didn't have the best eyesight, nor was she the best driver, and she didn't want to push her luck with a long drive in the middle of the night, since it was getting dark already).

And two, I remembered Randy.

I know, I know what you're all saying - what you must have been yelling at me since I first started going on about not knowing who to blame. _"Rob, you idiot, blame Randy! **Randy**, remember him?"_ Honestly, I don't know how I forgot him _again_; maybe dementia was setting in way early, brought on by stress. Whatever it was, I definitely remembered him now, and I was not pleased. Just like that, all the anger I'd left upstairs came rushing back, though this time it was aimed at _him_ and was tinged with a sort of cold calculation, the kind of thing I'd expect to see in serial killers as well as vengeful older brothers. This calm edge was what allowed me to really plan, to function and think, and remember what Jess had told me. His name was Randy, and he lived in the Fountain Bleu Apartments, apartment 2T. I could find him.

And I did. After I finished talking to Gwen, I went upstairs to my room, and got on the computer.

I'm not overly skilled on a computer, but it wasn't too hard to find directions to the apartments. And once I was looking up the apartments it wasn't hard for me to find out who owned them, and when his name was 'Randy Whitehead', I got suspicious. He was way too old to be the Randy I was looking for, though, so I Googled for any pictures of Randy Whitehead - and sure enough, there I was. I found a picture of the two of them together, Randy Senior and Randy Junior, and then I was good to go. I knew what Randy looked like, I knew where to find him and how to get there, and all I had to do was wait until tomorrow, when Gwen arrived, so that I could go kill him.

That was the hardest part, waiting. But the universe seemed to be working in my favor, for once - not half an hour after I found out the info, the phone rang, and when I picked it up, Chick's familiar voice blasted into my eardrums (not a quiet man at the best of times, Chick always talks too loud on the phone). He started lecturing me straight-away for not dropping by to visit once I got back, since he was 'sure everything's fine now that the little lady's back in town - for good, right?'

I wasn't really listening; I just said, "Yeah, sure, Hannah's back, it's all fine - listen, Chick, I need a favor. When she was gone, Han was with - with this guy, and I have to -"

"Say no more," Chick said, suddenly much less jolly, and I remembered that he had once put a guy in the emergency room just for _commenting_ on his sister when she was in town once to visit him (admittedly, it was a pretty nasty comment, but the lady is like a female, less rotund and more mobile, version of Chick himself, she didn't need the help). If anyone, he got it. "You want me to come down and stay with her?" He asked, and then I was free.

Well, I mean, I had to wait for him to get there. And then once he was there, I had to drive down to the garage so I could go sit in my more discreet black pickup (much as I loved it, my Indian wasn't exactly inconspicuous, or suited for lurking). It was incredibly cliche, as I had noted more than once when the Feds were still stalking Jess - but the fact was, cars were better for surveillance than bikes, and, if black, at least the pickup wasn't a van with tinted windows. That would have been going too far, even for me.

But anyway, by the time it was full dark, I was there, ready and waiting. Chick was watching Hannah - who had seemed far from overjoyed when I stuck my head into her room to mention this, but at least she didn't ask where I was going; I got the feeling she wouldn't like my mission.

When Randy got home, he was going to be in for a surprise. Oh, yeah.

* * *

**Anonymous Review Responses:**

**Mina - **Wow, I'm your book substitute? I'll have to try to be extra accurate then! If you have any questions, I'll be happy to answer them, by the way.

**met5026 - **Get prepared to find out, then!

**Jessica - **Um, guess I proved you wrong, huh? Sorry for the wait!

**Tori - **Did you accidentally click 'submit'?

**punkmisbah - **Ha, yes, Rob is handsome, isn't he? That's not the only reason why I love him, though, far from it!

**bri (: -** He really is - both cute, and a softie. Or, at least he was. I wonder what you think after this chapter... :)

**AussieGal -** LOL. 'Yes, Master'. New chapter up, as you wished! Care to explain what exactly you mean by 'detail in thought'? I _think_ I know what you're referring to, but care to clarify? And wow, I hope you didn't - that's a lot of seconds to count. (Regarding your review for _Fortune On Fire_ - yes, there is. And I've written several other Sky High fics, you cna find them all on my profile.)

**buttercup - **Really? Well, I can't allow you having lost faith in fanfic on my conscience! II hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**yLIME!! -** Of course. :)

**msrbleatbestluvr - **Ooh, ouch. Was it really that bad?

**updateplz -** Ha, you wouldn't believe the kind of excuses I can dredge up when I need to... Well, I guess you can because they're all at the top of the page. But that's not the point.

**TJ - **Thank you! And of course I will!


	7. Chapter 7

I constantly astound myself with my ability to make excuses: I've had swine flu, and overlapping/following that, mild pneumonia. So no writing. Ha. Sorry guys.

Also, apparently most everyone agreed with me last chapter, and I needn't have bothered apologizing for Rob's behavior, which was cool. Thanks guys. I think that I did a reasonably accurate job there, and y'all just confirmed it for me, which was nice.

* * *

I was fine, for the first fifteen minutes. The waiting didn't bother me. I had plenty of imagination, and I was putting it all to work planning what would happen when a certain Randy Junior came home. I was ready, alert.

That was the first fifteen minutes.

By the time forty-five had passed, I had slumped in my seat and taken to staring blankly out the window, lost in my thoughts. I had no clue where Randy could be – it was getting kind of late, he ought to have been coming home by now – and I really hoped he didn't actually live somewhere else. If he just housed his… well, you know… here, and didn't even come here at night, then this whole operation would be a waste. I didn't want that, obviously.

So, yes, I was occupied in my thoughts. I had long since turned on the radio (Tchaikovsky, from a classical station; I'd gotten into the habit of listening to it sometimes after Jess left – the flute bits always remind me of her, and I have to admit it's good music) and wasn't exactly paying much attention to my surroundings.

This does not, however, mean that when a sharp tapping sounded on my window – right next to my head – I was shocked. I saw her coming, really. Through my peripheral vision.

I did, and I most certainly _didn't_ jump in my seat like a little girl in a haunted house.

No, I just rolled down the window, perfectly calmly, and asked a simple, logical question, in a perfectly calm tone of voice: "What are you doing here?"

Mastriani looked pretty shocked herself, gaping at me. But she gathered her wits relatively quickly, to say, "I thought I'd pay a call on the young lady living in One-S. How about you?"

"I'm waiting for young Master Whitehead to get home," I informed Jess in a tone that suggested I was discussing how nice the weather was today, and maybe a picnic would be in order. "After which point, I'm going to beat him senseless."

Jess blinked. "Hannah told you his full name?"

I managed not to scoff out loud at that, but after the scene in her bedroom earlier today, the mere idea was laudable. "No," I said instead of laughing, "I Googled who owns the Fountain Bleu apartment, and found a pic of Randy Junior. I was going to kick his ass tomorrow, after Hannah's mom got here to pick her up. But Chick volunteered to keep an eye on her while I was gone, so I was able to change my plans."

Ah, Chick. I really don't appreciate him enough. Sure, he's the size of a teenage hippo, is generally dirtier than a rhino in a mud pit, has the level of manners of a pack of hyenas, and will not stop holding that money I owe him over me – but he's always there when you need him. Plus, just talking to him is like a free trip to the zoo. Where the animals wear leather, and swear at you.

Yeah, Chick's a good guy.

"You're not going to let Hannah stay?" Jess asked, and this time I couldn't hold back the disbelieving snort.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked. "I'm clearly the last guy who should be raising a teenage girl. She snowed me as easily – well, as you used to snow your parents." _But with much worse reasons_, I couldn't help but add silently. Yes, despite being guilty, I was still mad at her. I don't honestly think anyone could blame me.

Jess – rather wisely – changed the subject. "So what's the plan? You're just going to wait until he pulls up, then have a blanket party?"

She was referring, of course, to the tradition of tossing a blanket over whoever you were pissed at, so he couldn't see, and then having at him with whatever was handy, be it baseball bat, stick, booted feet, or even bars of soap in socks. I'd never really been a fan.

"No," I declined, "I'm skipping the blanket. I was thinking I'd like to see his face as I grind it into the pavement."

"Right," Jess said. I wondered if she was humoring me. Usually, that went the other way around – _me_ humoring _her_ violent tendencies. Oh, well. "Well, good luck with that. I just saw him at a city council meeting, where I told him I was onto him, so he's probably either already been here to pick up his other girlfriend and left, or is going to stay away from this place for the time being."

I stared at her. "Are you kidding me?" I asked, kind of pathetically. She _had_ to give him a heads up? And she couldn't even have punched him? Just once, while she was at it? He was my victim, but I wouldn't have minded.

"I'm not," Jess said, and she did look vaguely apologetic. "Sorry. But you can still make yourself useful."

Uh-oh. I raised an eyebrow. "Really. How?"

Jess winked, and I felt the familiar dread: she had A Plan, God Help Us. "Honk if the cops show up."

She then turned to walk away, as if she didn't know that statement would bring me right out of the car to follow her. Which it did.

"Mastriani," I asked suspiciously, "What are you doing?"

I didn't even realize at the moment that I'd called her that. It was the familiar feeling of worry mixed with dread, mixed with a slight interest, that one of Jess's plans always gave me, and it felt just like old times.

"Oh," Jess shrugged nonchalantly. "Randy mentioned something that made me want to come over here and check the place out. That's all."

I may have been lying in wait to commit assault, but that didn't mean I didn't immediately guess what she was alluding to. And yes, it was illegal. Come on, this was a Jess plan. "What do you mean, check the place out?"

Jess kept right on walking. "Just something Randy said. It could be nothing. Or it could be something. But I'm pretty sure you're not really going to want to be a party to what I'm about to do," – when did I ever? – "since it will probably involve some breaking and entering. And with your police record…"

Yeah. Just like old times.

"I don't have a police record," I informed Jess, "I have a juvenile record. And it's sealed." I'm not really sure why I added that sentence.

Yeah, all right, that's bullcrap. I added that piece of information, because Jess had been relentlessly after the information about what I'd done for years now, and the two of us breaking up wasn't going to halt her curiosity. Also, since she'd probably had access to a Federal computer at some point in the past two years, she'd probably tried to figure it out, and discovered this – that my juvenile record was sealed and therefore she couldn't get into it – all on her own.

Yes, I was essentially mocking her there. But subtly.

"Fine," Jess scowled, confirming my suspicions. She had to have checked, ha. "Then you can be lookout."

Have I mentioned that ever since Hannah first went missing, I seem to have been mood-swinging faster than a pregnant woman? This statement made me mad.

"Lookout nothing," I growled. "I'm in this, Mastriani. You're not shutting me out. Not this time."

There's a good chance that she was going to argue with me. But that last sentence shut her up. She kind of just stared at me, like she wanted to ask me a question, for a few moments… Then she moved on.

"Fine," Jess said again. "But if you're going to tag along, you have to do things my way. And my way doesn't involve anyone getting beat senseless."

Who _was_ this girl?

"Now you really _are_ kidding," I said. But Mastriani just shook her head.

"Actually, I'm not. I don't do violence anymore." She didn't look at me, leading the way up to Apartment 1S. "I've learned there are more effective ways of solving problems than ramming your fist into your adversary's face."

I blinked. Wow.

I mean, now I really felt a role-reversal here, but still… Wow.

"I'm impressed," I told Jess, who looked at me in surprise. "Mr. Goodhart would be proud."

Jess smiled nostalgically. "Yes," she said. "He would, actually."

Then, without further ado, Jess knocked on the door in front of us.

It wasn't very dramatic, seeing as no one answered. After a few moments waiting, Jess reached out and jiggled the doorknob: it was locked, no big shock there.

"This is where you found Hannah?" I asked, eying the flimsy wood.

"No," Jess answered, still frowning at the door. "Hannah was in Two-T."

"Oh." I shelved that bit of information away. "So, what now?"

Jess reached into her back pocket, taking out a slim wallet. "Now it's time for a little B and E," she grinned. "Try to look casual. Hey, you got a credit card on you?"

"That you can destroy trying to open that door? No." I actually didn't have one on me, but my answer would have been the same either way.

"Never mind," Jess sighed, pulling a card from her wallet, and reaching towards the door with it. "I'm good."

Her face glared up at me from the photo on the card, and after a moment of her wriggling it in the crack between the door and doorjamb, I realized what exactly she was using. "Hey," I said slowly. "Aren't you going to need that in the fall?"

Jess looked down at her student ID for a moment, before shrugging in a way that was obviously mean to come off as uncaring. "I can always get a new one."

I didn't have time to answer before the door opened.

Jess put a finger to her lips quickly – I got the feeling she didn't exactly mind the previous conversation being cut short. Then, she pushed the door open and called out into the apartment, completely negating her shushing motion, "Randy? You around?"

Of course, he wasn't. She'd already gone and warned him off. Jess turned on the light, and I followed her into what was frankly an extremely boring living room. She shut the door behind us.

"So," I asked, glancing around, "What now? We going to wait and jump him when he gets home?"

I'm not honestly sure whether that was a joke or not, and if so, it was a bad one – but Jess took it seriously, at any rate. "No," she said. "I told you. I don't do that kind of thing anymore. And if you're going to hang around with me, you can't, either. There are better ways to make someone sorry for what they've done than smacking them."

Well, wasn't she the little killjoy. Not that I was exactly in a mood to party, but Jess seemed bound and determined to make this no fun at all. That was slightly unusual for her – normally she'd be quipping away.

I decided to pick up the slack. "Really?" I asked, picking up the only reading material in the room and glancing at it in mild disgust (_Teen People_ magazine) before dropping it back to the coffee table. "I'd be interested in hearing about them."

Jess cracked a smile. "Watch and learn, my friend," She said, walking off towards the bedroom. "Watch and learn."

I followed her, intrigued. So far I had absolutely no clue what we were doing in here, and walking into the bedroom didn't seem to clear things up much, especially when Jess began searching around the room and closet. Still, I followed suit, opening various dresser drawers – only to abandon them, fairly certain that the jeans and lacy underwear that filled them were not what we were looking for.

Hm, good point. "What are we looking for?" I asked.

Jess kept looking. "I'll tell you when I see it."

The dresser proving useless, I gave up, my thoughts turning back to Randy. "Maybe he went to his parents' house," I said suddenly. "They live right here in town, you know. Over in that new subdivision behind the mall."

More Googling. The internet is a powerful tool.

"What new subdivision behind the mall?" Jess asked, pulling her head away from the bathroom door.

I knew she had been in New York, but I would have figured that her family would keep her updated – especially Doug, since he was so involved in local politics now. "The one Randy Whitehead Senior built," I told her, still surprised. Then I figured out the timeline: it had happened while she was off during the war, not while she was at school, and there wasn't much keeping in contact with her then. That was probably why she didn't know. Either that or she didn't listen to her family when they called. One or the other; knowing Jess, there were 50-50 odds. "Oh, that's right. It was while you were gone. Well, he built a new subdivision. It's full of five-, six-bedroom homes with three-car garages and in-ground pools."

Jess made a face, one that pretty much expressed my opinion as well. We both lived in pretty old, unique homes – well, her family's house was, anyway, not her apartment in New York – and it stood to reason that neither of us would approve of rows upon rows of identically built mansions with bad taste.

"McMansions," Jess summed up.

"Right," I agreed, my mind turning back to the problem of how to get to Randy and beat his face in (yeah, I admired Jess's new nonviolence policy, but I never said I followed it. Especially not in this sort of situation). "I bet that's where we'll find Randy. Holed up with Mom and Dad. They probably have a security system, even the community is gated."

Jess's eyebrows shot up. "A gated community? Here in town? Seriously?"

She had good reason to be surprised. Though the Townies tended to look down on us Grits as criminals, there had never actually been too much concern about security; not in this small a town. At least not until all these new rich idiots started moving in.

"To keep out the riffraff," I rolled my eyes. "And enraged older brothers who want to beat Randy's face in."

It was Jess's turn to roll her eyes. "We're not looking for Randy," she said, now peering at the mirror.

She might not be, but _I_ sure as hell was. I neglected to mention this, however. "Well, what _are_ we looking for?" I opted for instead.

"I told you," Jess said, still staring at the mirror. It was directly opposite the bed, huge and sort of gaudy. Much like most things the Whiteheads built. "I'll let you know when I find it. Help me move this mirror."

I looked at the thing. It was huge. "No way. It's probably bolted to the wall."

"It isn't," Jess said, and I recognized that tone of utter confidence. Sighing, I moved to grab the end of the frame she hadn't already taken hold of. "Come on. Lift."

We did so. It was heavy, just as I'd guessed. And again, that thing was freaking _huge_, so it was pretty unwieldy. Still, we got it after a bit of struggle.

And revealed the hole in the wall behind it. The hole in the wall, which contained a video camera, pointing out in the direction of the mirror. Looking at the mirror, now lying face-down on the floor, it was revealed to me that it was not actually a mirror, but a big piece of two-way glass, like they have in police stations.

The camera was pointing through the mirror. The mirror hung directly in front of the large bed.

"Fuck," I said.

"Remember," Jess asked me, "how you told me to tell you what we were looking for? And I said I would when we found it? Well, we found it."

Yeah. We sure did.

I looked at the bed, and remembered the scanty underwear in the dresser drawers. I looked back at the camera.

"Well," I said again, "fuck."

* * *

Anonymous Reviews:

**Jade - **There really isn't enough Rob out there, so sorry for always making you wait for what I can offer. You've been great about it though, and always reviewing, so thank you!

**Tori - **No prob, we've all done it before. It was just a little amusing. That's what I figured, so thank you. :)

**Nat - **Thank you! Don't worry, I'm doing my best!

**buttercup - **Never lose faith! Not as long as I'm here. ;) Just kidding. But really, thanks. You're so nice to me and this 'ole fanfic.

**AussieGal - **Of course. :) How could I not? And I'm talking both about the length and argument here: both were necessary, and if I'm honest, kind of fun to write, ha. Glad you enjoyed.

**Nadiah.Z.S - **Oh, you enjoyed that? Good then. :) And thank you!

**Jessica - **Thank you! I feel the same way - but about writing it, of course. :)

**It'.Cassidy - **Ha, thank you! I guess you're excited right about now, huh? And I know exactly what you mean... I'm the Queen of Lazy.

**Lily - **Welcome, newcomer! :) I'm glad you found what you were looking for. And he sure is. In fact, I think all of us are in complete agreement about Rob's dreaminess here, LOL. Thank you; I'm excited for it as well! Thanks again, and here you are!

**Ladot - **Whoa, all caps. Let me recover... All right, you're a new face (or name, anyway). If I've coaxed a lurking reader out of hiding, that's great! Please continue to review. Either way, sorry for the wait! And here you are, with your update. Now you can find out what's happening.

_And for the first TGIL - if she ever gets to this point, thank you **laaa** for your review!_


	8. Chapter 8

So, uh. I suck.

Seriously, you must _hate_ me so much. I would. Especially since I haven't answered a single review or PM. I am such an, let's say überbitch, to borrow from Hannah.

Also, I'm not answering those reviews _now_, either. It's been too long (even though there were many and they were all AWESOME, thank you guys!). I suck. Etcetera. I don't even have an excuse this time. Except I would like to say again that I have not, am not, and will not abandon this story. It was just... paused, back there. Yeah.

Read on, you people who are more loyal than I deserve. :) And please be sparing with the rotten fruit for the wait, yeah?

* * *

"But seriously Jess," I said, "How'd you know?"

I had been asking this, in more or less the same words, pretty much ever since we first found the camera. I think that my sheer persistence was what made Jess finally sigh in exasperation and answer me. I can be annoying too, when I want to be.

"I didn't," Jess said, sounding frustrated. "I just guessed. Something he said."

I looked away from her, down at the tapes. Yes, the _tapes_. Where there is a video camera there's video, and this Randy guy had boxes upon boxes of cassettes hidden away in his closet up on a high shelf (I should have known those shoes were hiding something. Seriously, who would actually need over ten pairs of loafers?).

It was making me sick just looking, mostly because of all the names written neatly on the tapes. Female names. On the _tapes_.

Just in case you didn't get that, these tapes were from the camera pointing out over Randy's bed.

There were lots of names, too. Carly, Jasmine, Beth, Rachel, and Allison were just the ones closest at the moment but there were plenty others.

These were _girls' names_. From that _camera_.

"He's taping them," I announced unnecessarily.

"Some of them," Jess corrected, and I suddenly breathed in relief as I remembered that actually, Hannah's name wasn't here. She didn't _have_ a tape, thank God, so while this was still horrible, at least it didn't involve –

Wait a second. This was room 1S. Hannah had been in 2T.

Oh God.

"You don't think he's got tapes of Hannah somewhere?" I demanded, hoping that _maybe_ Jess could be sure the answer was no and then maybe I wouldn't feel this surging anger flooding through me…

"Let's not jump to conclusions," she warned, though. She didn't say no – she _wasn't _sure. Which meant – which meant Randy was going to _die_ and I was already moving fast out of that room.

I could hear Jess behind me, shoving the tapes back into various boxes, and saying, "Rob. Wait. Don't do anything - "

Apparently Jess and I have some sort of seesaw thing going on. For the first three years we had known each-other - or at least the first one, I'm not as sure about the two years we were out of contact - she had been _pretty much_ insane, whereas I was at least somewhat logical. She was all for the violence; I restrained her.

Now, it seemed we'd switched sides. Jess had traded in her violence in favor of attempting to restrain _mine_, and now I was somehow the rage-fueled one. Funny how that happens.

In any case, I practically gave myself whiplash when I swung around to glare at Jess. That should tell you plenty all on its own. "Don't do anything what? Hasty? Violent? What? Jess, what do you want me to do? That's my _sister_."

With that, I left. I could hear Jess calling after me, but I ignored her, rushing straight out of the apartment and looking around briefly before moving just as quickly up the stairs.

It was probably unfair of me to take this out on Jess, but come on. It's not like she didn't do it to me a fair bit herself, once upon a time when she was the loco one.

Still, the brief delay looking for the stairs was enough, because Jess caught up with me on them, lugging around a box of the tapes. "Rob," she said. "You don't want to do this."

I almost laughed. I swear, I almost laughed at that. But then I caught sight of my destination, and all humor left me in an instant. "Actually, I really do."

"Well, at least let me - " Before Jess could finish, I had shot out with a single foot and kicked the door to 2T open. It was like something straight out of a movie, although I was too mad to appreciate that at the moment.

Something else I was too mad to appreciate at the moment - kids, do _not_ try that at home. Or anywhere else, really. Not because it's illegal, which, you know, it probably is - no, I would severely advise against kicking doors in because it _hurts like a bitch_.

Got that? I was wearing thick motorcycle boots here, and my foot was frigging _tingling_, I mean, holy crap. Just - no, just don't even try.

"Well, that was subtle," I heard Jess grumbling behind me. I kept walking, ignoring the pain in favor of navigating through the apartment (that looked exactly like the last one, by the way, these people don't have even the _slightest_ sense of individuality). "No one noticed that, I'm sure."

This time, I yanked the mirror off the wall by myself. It was just as heavy, and it near fell on my toe, but I got it free and barely stopped to take note of the hole in the was, camera peeking through, before I was in the closet.

"Come on," I said, and lifted Jess up (so that she could reach the high shelf; we'd had to do that last time too) so abruptly that her head nearly hit the ceiling. All things considered, she was actually very patient with me.

Of course, I wasn't considering all things then, just the fact that I was holding a videotape with the word 'Hannah' printed neatly on it, all in caps. There were about three or four others with the same name.

"That's it," I said, mostly to myself. "He's dead."

"No he isn't," Jess answered me anyway, snatching the videotape from me and wedging it back into its box. "You aren't going to do anything to him, Rob. I mean it. The police can handle it."

I took deep breaths. Deep breaths. Long, heavy, deep breaths.

The _police_, Jesus. Jess and I did so much crap and they never caught us. It was all for good causes and all, but still - they never caught us. It took the _FBI_, and we were teenagers. How the hell could I trust the average police with the highly important task of destroying Randy's life before ending it by way of slow torture?

Well, I guess if they got him thrown in prison for life, that would be okay too. I actually kind of liked that thought.

"That's what you're going to do with those?" I asked, jutting my chin at the box Jess now held in her arms. It had occurred to me that we were breaking in, here. Could the police even accept that kind of evidence? "Hand them over to the police?"

Jess looked… wary. And also like she was plotting something. A bad but predictable combo. "Eventually. First," she paused, but then barged ahead anyway, "I'm going to watch them."

I blinked. No matter how many guesses I might have been given, I would _not_ have come up with that. "You're going to-?"

"I have to," Jess interrupted, now looking earnest. But still with the plotting face. "Somebody's got to try to find out what happened to all those girls, don't you think?"

I got it right away. "You think he-?"

"I don't know," Jess interrupted _again_. Great, we were back to that. "But I'm going to find out. And then… well, I plan on using them as leverage."

Jess hoisted the box a little higher and walked out the room. I followed her haplessly. Again. "Leverage? Leverage for what?"

Jess piled the new box on top of the old box, which was still sitting in the hallway, then straightened and turned to look at me. "I'm not sure yet. But one thing I do know - this is a lot bigger, Rob, than just one guy shacking up with multiple girls. This looks like it might be a little home-based business Randy's got going on the side, and that's different than if he was just a horny jerk with a penchant for teenage runaways. You see that, don't you?"

I… I didn't want to see that. I didn't want to have to see that, to have to see the implications of all those tapes and the number of different names on them. But I _did_, of course I did. It just made me even more angry, but - I saw Jess's point.

I also saw that look in her eyes. And I knew that she had _something_ planned out, and at the moment? I wasn't sure I wanted her to follow through with her plan. They had a tendency of getting out of hand. "Jess," I said, with an extra side of suspicion in my voice. "What are you doing?"

She looked… furtive. Glancing away, at a woman coming out of her apartment to walk her dog. Which was really inconvenient timing, actually, because I was fairly certain that if I didn't find out what Jess was planning on doing _now_, I never would. Not until I was in the middle of it.

Still. We probably _shouldn't_ talk about it in from of the dog-walking lady. "Let's not talk about it here," Jess echoed my thoughts. "Come on. Grab a box."

I did, if only because taking the boxes would mean Jess would have to ride in the truck with me. Which meant I had a chance to wrangle the truth out of her as we drove, if I was lucky. So I bent down, grabbed both boxes, and headed for the parking lot. The sooner we could discuss this - or, more accurately, Jess could avoid the topic while I tried to get her to tell me what she was thinking - the better.

The lady with the dog said something to Jess. I didn't hear whatever it was, but it was enough to make her catch up with me at the bottom of the stairs, in quite a hurry.

Maybe she had noticed the kicked-in door somehow. Which would not be good. "What did she say?" I asked Jess as we stepped out into the parking lot.

Jess shook her head, not meeting my eyes. "Nothing. Will you follow me home and drop these off with me? I can't take them on my bike."

…And there went my plan of figuring out _Jess_'s plan. I almost opened my mouth to suggest that she just ride with me, but I hadn't considered the bike before. There was no way she'd leave that behind. So I just sighed, nodded, dumped the boxes in the back and then climbed into the driver's seat of the truck.

I had to wait there for a minute while Jess went over to the next parking lot for her bike, which was plenty of time for me to glare around at nothing, hit the steering wheel a couple of times and wonder why, _why_, she never told me her plans?!

Oh, right. Probably because I'd stop her.

Jess rumbled slowly past me, and I turned the key in the ignition to follow, still scowling.

We drove slowly - or, Jess drove slowly, and since I was behind her, I had to too. She seemed to be moving that way on purpose - maybe enjoying the scenery or something. I don't know. In any case, we missed a light, and while we were stopped, some girl on the side of the road started talking to her. She had some guy with her too, but I didn't recognize either of them.

I wouldn't say that Jess didn't _recognize_ them, since she turned her head when they talked to her and ever flipped up the glass on her helmet, but she didn't answer them that I saw. And considering the way the girl was babbling on - I couldn't hear what she was saying with the windows closed, but her mouth was certainly moving - the fact that Jess didn't make any move to reply said loads.

Something else that said plenty? She drove quickly after that.

Curious about this, the first thing I said when we pulled up at her parent's house, me rolling down my window to talk to Jess who was engaged in taking off her helmet, was, "What was that all about? Who was that girl?"

She didn't look at me. "No one. Just someone I used to know."

I probably took that the wrong way. She probably didn't even mean anything by it. Probably. But I was getting frustrated, and Jess wasn't telling me anything, not even something as stupid and little as who that girl was, and on top of that, she was describing her the way I'd always kind of feared she would think of me now. Just someone she used to know.

"Someone you used to know, eh," I said blankly. "Guess there's a lot of people around here who you could say that about."

Jess still didn't meet my eyes. She didn't answer the unspoken question, either, avoiding like _always_. "Guess so," she said. "Can I have my boxes, please?"

I shook my head in exasperation, but got out and set her boxes down on the lawn for her. She looked like she wanted to just grab them and go inside, but something stopped her.

Probably the way I was still just standing there, looking at her. "Are you going to let me in on the plan," I finally asked, straight-out, "or are you going to keep shutting me out?"

Jess looked _mad_ at that, which was ridiculous because it was _true_. "I'm not the one shutting people out."

And that was even _more_ ridiculous, enough so that I had to laugh. Even though it was anything but funny. "Oh, right."

Now that I was laughing, Jess didn't just look mad. She looked _furious_. "I'm _not_," she insisted.

I could have said so much about that. I could have pointed out exactly how wrong she was, just how much she was deluding herself there - but then she'd just get even angrier, and I wouldn't find anything out. So instead, I simply said, "I can't sit around and do nothing about this guy, Jess."

"I know that," Jess said, and I could already tell she wasn't going to give me any details. "And we wont be doing nothing. We're just not going to hurt him. Physically, anyway. Look. You're just going to have to trust me on this."

The fact that she said _that_, had the _nerve_ to ask me to just _trust_ her, now of all times - it infuriated me. And, worse, it hurt. Because it reminded me of all the _other_ times I had had to just trust her. And I always had. Every single time, I'd trusted her, and I might have complained about it, but I always still trusted her completely. And the one time, the _only_ time she had to trust me, she hadn't.

I felt… bitter. And disbelieving, because honestly, how could she really ask that of me _now_ and expect it to be enough? "Oh, right," I said again. "You mean the way you trust me?"

I think - no, I _know_ that I would have stayed angry. Except, the moment I said that, this expression of complete _fear_ flashed over Jess's face, and I remembered that even if it wasn't an excuse, she sort of had reasons for not trusting me. Or anyone, that is, not just me. She was still messed up after the war, and pushing her might be wrong, but I had to _know_.

So when she spun around, looking like she was going just up and run, I reached out and caught her arm. "Jess," I said gently. But I didn't let her get away.

She was completely stiff, stubbornly staring away the porch lights. "I seriously don't want to talk about this right now."

"We have to talk about it sometime," I said, still trying to be gentle, considerate. And then, because I just _had_ to, because I really am selfish sometimes, I declared, "I'm not letting you go until we do. Not this time."

I could hear Jess swallow, but she still didn't turn around. "You have to let me go," she insisted. "The paper boy will call the cops in the morning if he gets here and finds us like this."

I sighed, loosening my grip on her arm, which she then yanked away. "I don't mean we have to do it tonight. At least she was turning to look at me now. Even if she wasn't _quite_ meeting my eyes, instead glaring at my forehead. I steeled myself, because I really _meant_ this, and went on, "But we've got to talk about it sometime before you leave to go back to New York. I know you don't want to, but I do. I have to. I don't think I'll ever be able to move on if we don't."

Which, though true, really hurt to say. I didn't _want_ to move on, I wanted Jess to come _back_ - but that was looking less and less likely. Especially given her bitter, twisted laugh, when I said that.

"Oh," she snorted. "You haven't moved on?"

I frowned. "No. What makes you think that I have?" She'd seen my house, my car. She had basically seen my life - it was all school, work, and for a brief time, Hannah - but nothing else, no _one_ else. How could she actually think I'd moved on?

Especially with the way I had been _looking_ at her all this time.

"Gee, I don't know," Jess said sarcastically. "Maybe it was that blonde I saw you making out with."

I wanted to kick something, but I didn't because my foot had already gotten hurt once tonight and besides, Jess didn't look like she would listen to anything I had to say. She looked like she _hated_ me.

Still, I had to try. "Jess. I _told_ you. That -"

And then, with possibly the worst timing ever, Mrs. Mastriani stepped out onto the porch and called, "Jessica! There you are!"

I'd probably get arrested for strangling the woman. I reminded myself of this fact as I stared at Jess, interrupted yet _again_ before I could explain things properly, before we could talk things over for once.

"Aren't you going to invite your friend inside?" Mrs. Mastriani continued gaily, until she turned on the porch light and saw who I was. Then her tone changed, to that familiar disapproval. "Oh. Hello, Robert."

I felt like I was being forced to eat something nasty - I seriously hate prejudice. And maybe it's just the fact that I haven't had to deal with it as much on a day-to-day basis since I graduated high school, or maybe it was just the moment in which I was faced with it (combined with _who_ I was facing it from. Again), but my tolerance felt pretty darn low.

Still, I controlled myself, and I think I acted normal enough when I said, "Hey, Mrs. Mastriani."

"Well," Mrs. Mastriani said, doing a less than stellar job herself at concealing the distaste in her voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize - I didn't mean to interrupt -"

Jess seized the escape route offered her, as I'd known she would. "It's okay," she said, bending over and picking up both the boxes. "You didn't interrupt anything. We were just saying good night."

"Right," I echoed slowly as she rushed away from me, back towards her mother and the house. "We were just saying good night."

"Call me in the morning, Rob," Jess said, climbing the porch steps. "So we can talk about what we're going to do about that _situation_."

I clenched my jaw, but just agreed again blandly. "I'll do that. Good night."

"Good night, Robert," Mrs. Mastriani called out to me, and I grunted quietly instead of answering. Then she swung back to her daughter who was even now escaping past her inside the house. "What have you got there, Jessica?"

I didn't hear Jess's answer as she walked in the front door. It was too quiet and too far away, and I was getting back into the truck.

I slammed the door a little too hard, and started up the ignition just as Jess's front door closed too.

Right.

I clenched my jaw, did _not _punch anything, and drove off maybe a little faster than is recommended. Heading home angry, confused, frustrated, and brushed off. Again.

And when I got back, I had Hannah to look forward to. This was _not_ a good day.


	9. Chapter 9

1) I'm getting more and more into writing angrydad!Rob. Not sure why.

2) My god, the angst!

* * *

Things that night didn't turn out as bad as I might have expected, actually. Hannah was still locked up in her room, so I didn't have to fight with her. Chick left – after I had begged until he agreed to come over and babysit tomorrow morning as well, while I was out doing whatever-the-insane-plan-involved with Jess – and for all intents and purposes, it was as though I was home alone. So I went out to the barn and busied myself with the Harley I was currently restoring for a while, ate dinner, and went to bed. No, not terribly exciting, but I supposed I would have excitement enough the next morning.

My instincts are spot-on.

I called Jess the next morning like I'd said I would, and to be honest I was kind of insulted that she didn't bother to pick up when she was the one who wanted me to call in the first place. Especially since the person who picked the phone up instead was her dad.

I have a sort of a weird relationship with Mr. Mastriani. While it's no secret that his wife hates me, his opinion seems to be a little more complicated. Oh, don't get me wrong, the man didn't seriously contest his wife for a minute when she started laying into me that one dinner. Well, I mean, he tried at first, but he shut up pretty quickly and let her have her say. But he himself has never really seemed to hate me; in fact, I think he kind of likes me. But considering his wife and all, my interactions with him always felt just sort of awkward. Especially since he was probably under the same impression as the rest of the Mastriani's – that I was some dumb scumbag who cheated on Jess.

Well, all the Mastriani's except for Doug. I really wished I had gotten Doug on the phone.

"Um," I said. "Hey, Mr. Mastriani. It's Rob. Is Jess there?"

"Oh, Rob!" Mr. Mastriani said, and unless I'm very much mistaken, he lowered his voice a little bit. I really think he is afraid of his wife. "No, sorry, Jess isn't available right now. She's busy."

I blinked. "Oh," I said, "because she asked me to call her today, about – "

"Right, right," Mr. Mastriani said quickly, cutting me off. "I know. And she'll be wanting you to come over pretty soon."

Was it just me or did he sound like he knew what was going on? Even more than _I_ did, which was unfair in ways I couldn't even _begin_ to describe. I scowled and spun viciously around to pace back towards the entrance to the kitchen.

Only to find myself staring at Hannah. Great. I had to make this quick – which meant I wouldn't get the chance to ask what was going on now, either.

"Okay," I said, keeping my eyes on Hannah. She was kind of a mess. You could tell she'd been crying because her face was all blotchy, her hair was just one big multi-colored tangle, and she was still wearing yesterday's clothes. Also, she was glaring at me. "What time?"

Jess's dad sounded a bit surprised that I was so readily acquiescing, but he gave me the time anyway, and we said our goodbyes and hung up. I took a deep breath, then turned to Hannah. Time to take care of _this_.

"Hey," I said, kind of hesitantly. I wasn't happy with her or anything, but most of my anger had burned out by now. Especially considering the tapes. "Good morning."

Hannah glared, but slipped past me to grab a bowl and some cereal from a cupboard. It seemed that she was no longer starving herself (Chick told me that she refused to eat any dinner yesterday), which at least was good. Even if she was, apparently, giving me the silent treatment.

I put the phone back on the hook and followed her into the dining room. She poured milk into her bowl, took out a spoon, and commenced eating without glancing up at me, but still scowling heavily.

I sighed. "So I guess you're not going to talk to me today either, huh."

She took another couple bites, eating fast – probably with the intention of escaping upstairs to sulk some more once she was done.

Getting a little fed up, I gave up on her talking to me of her own free will. "Look, Hannah. What I said yesterday, I wasn't lying." She gave me a sharp look, and I realized how that may have been interpreted. "About _any_ of it, actually. But what I mean right now is, well – your mom is on her way. She should be here sometime this afternoon, I'm guessing."

I was attempting to be sensitive there, by the way. Talking about her mom first and all, instead of bringing up the videos right away.

You can guess how well _that_ went.

Hannah looked up, eyes gleaming. "Good! Maybe _she_ will actually _listen_ to me."

Jesus Christ, is this what it's like being a parent? Because if so, then never _ever_ sign me up. "I seriously doubt it," I snapped, "considering that you screwed her over just as much as you did me – which wouldn't be necessary if she'd thought you were doing the right thing from the beginning. And she was right. Especially since your _boyfriend_ was…"

And there I related the story of the videos without omitting a detail – the time to be nice was long gone.

Hannah glared at me all the way through, and yelled a lot, but much to my surprise she didn't get up and stomp away upstairs, which was some sort of progress. Maybe.

Or maybe she was just hungry. She was eating her cereal pretty quickly – violently, yes, and only when she wasn't screaming at me, but she _was_ eating it. And she had starved herself the night before.

Long story short: Hannah didn't believe me, and I was getting angrier and angrier by the minute, so I tried to force myself to calm down before something got thrown. For the time being, I let the conversation drop, and for a few moments there was a pause, only broken by Hannah's spoon scraping her bowl. She was pointedly not looking at me.

I took a deep breath, and let it out. I could do this. "Look," I said slowly, "have you started packing yet? Or cleaned up that room?"

Hannah snorted into her cereal, which I took as an emphatic _no_. I sighed. Yet again.

"Well, you'd better get started. Although maybe you should clean _yourself_ up first – I'm going out, and Chick's coming to watch you again. I doubt you want him to see you like this."

"_What?_" Hannah screeched. "Chick? What is _he_ gonna be here for? I don't need a babysitter!"

"Sure," I said. "'Cause we all know how well that worked out _last _time." Hannah glared. Still. "No, Chick is coming over, and don't you dare give him _any_ shit."

Hannah mumbled, "I hate that guy."

I have no idea why anyone would hate Chick. Okay – so maybe there are plenty of reasons that _certain_ _types_ of people would hate Chick, but not _Hannah_. I'd always thought that she would have liked him. And I guess I could understand her being peeved at him after being babysat by him yesterday, but still, that was no reason to say she _hated_ him.

I may not have reacted well to that, especially after the whole video thing.

"That's it!" I snapped, jerking a finger out to point at her. "Get up. _Right_ now."

Hannah actually did, looking a little scared. Maybe she was remembering yesterday, and she had realized exactly how restrained I had been this whole conversation. I hadn't even used this tone of voice when she was yelling at me about it being "all _lies! _You're just making that up to make him look bad! Randy would never do that to me – I told you we're in _love!_"

But seriously, right now Chick was off-limits. I owed the guy way too much – and I'm not talking about him helping me with college funds.

"You have absolutely _no_ right to criticize Chick," I said angrily. "He is already doing me a _huge_ favor in taking all this time off work just to make sure that you don't do anything stupid again, and he _doesn't_ need to deal with your crap on top of that. Go upstairs. Take a shower; get dressed – quit _moping_ – and start cleaning your room and actually packing your stuff, because I _know_ you didn't last night. And when Chick gets here, you had better be freaking civil with him, because you _owe_ him. Got it?"

Hannah took a few seconds to recover from that. And for a couple seconds she actually looked a little guilty, like she was considering just going along with it. But of course nothing's ever that easy.

She slammed her spoon down into her bowl, splashing milk out over the table, and began to stomp out of the room – but straight up the stairs, so I didn't complain. Even when I heard her muttering fiercely with every stomp up: "I hate him, I hate him, I _hate_ him…"

I'm presuming that I'm the lucky guy.

Still, at least I heard the shower start a little while after, so I left that be for now and turned back to the phone. Two more calls – Chick and Gwen, to find out when they'd be here ("Give me twenty minutes" from Chick and "Early afternoon" from Gwen) – and stealing the rest of Hannah's cereal, as well as having some of my own, and I was ready to go.

I waited outside for Chick to come by, and we passed each-other with nothing but a quick greeting. Then I got into the garage's truck – I had come straight home last night and even though I _could_ go switch it out for my Indian, I had no idea what Jess and I were going to do. We might need to cart the tapes along with us again – and headed out.

When I pulled up to Jess's house, a sedan was already there, parked on the street next to her driveway. Specifically, an unmarked black one with tinted windows – and wasn't _that_ a sight for sore eyes. I considered waving, but it had been years since I'd known any of Jess's feds well enough for that. Johnson was the last one, actually – Krantz had messed everything up.

I wondered what he was doing here – assuming that _was_ him. Hadn't he agreed to leave Jess alone after the war? Doug had told me that he'd sworn not to bother her again, even if she _did _somehow get her psychic powers back.

It was typical of him to break that promise, really. Just typical.

I was debating whether it was worth it to go over to the van and point out what an asshole he was, but just then the front door opened and Jess came out, swiftly followed by her mom.

I waved at her, just because she looked annoyed and I always try to at least to pretend to be polite to Mrs. Mastriani. I'm almost positive she hates it. "Hey, Mrs. Mastriani."

She gave me a weak smile (I resisted a chuckle) and said, "Hello, Robert." Then she spun around and started whispering furiously to Jess – or at least talking too quietly for me to hear. They seemed to argue for a little bit, although Mrs. Mastriani looked a lot more worked up than Jess – and then Jess just turned and walked away.

She waved at me, but then headed over to the sedan first, so I relaxed back in my seat. Maybe she had called him in, though why I couldn't guess. Still – she did seem to be plotting differently now, so maybe that was it. Either that or Jess was taking care of the verbal reprise for me – either way, I was happy to wait.

After a few minutes, she turned around to come over to my truck, but just as she did, this white convertible Rabbit pulled up and gave a merry toot-toot with its horn. It was… annoying.

Actually, as I peered through the windows, I realized I recognized the person driving that car. It was that girl from yesterday – the one who'd bothered Jess so much at the stoplight (and who had inadvertently started off a huge argument when Jess didn't bother to identify her). Huh.

Just like last night, Jess ignored her, walking around to climb into my passenger seat. I glanced at her, then at the other car, then decided to go for it. Again. Maybe Jess was actually inclined to share something this time.

"Hey," I said, then looked over at the girl again. "Isn't that that girl from last night? The one who stopped you on the street?"

"Just drive," Jess said.

Let me take a moment to do what I did _not_ get to do at the time. Then, I just took a deep breath and did as Jess asked. But I really… _really_ wanted to say the following: God. Fucking. Damn. It.

There, done.

"How's Hannah?" Jess asked, buckling her seat belt as I slowly pulled out into the road.

"She hates me," I related matter-of-factly. "She's also not too fond of Chick, who's babysitting her again until her mother gets here to pick her up."

"She'll get over it," Jess assured me. "Did you tell her about the videos?"

I nearly chuckled. "Oh, yeah. She doesn't believe me." I refrained from imitating Hannah's voice for the next part, but just barely. "Her precious Randy would never do anything like that. She thinks I'm making it up to make Randy look bad."

Jess _did_ laugh. "Of course you are. Don't worry. She'll come around."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Too bad by the time she does, she'll be back home with her mom." Just then I happened to glance into the rearview mirror and saw the sedan trailing us. I sighed. "Who's the tail? FBI?"

Jess shook her head. "Mob. Turns out Randy Senior's connected."

Of course. Of course that would happen.

"Boy," I said, "Things just keep getting better with this guy. My sister sure knows how to pick 'em. Should I lose them?"

"No," Jess said cheerfully, "they're our escort."

"Great," I said with _complete_ sincerity. Then I remembered an important detail. "May I ask where this little procession is headed?" Until then I'd just been driving straight.

"Absolutely," Jess said. "Courthouse square. The offices of Mr. Randall Whitehead Senior are in the Fountain building."

I nodded and made a right turn. "And that's where we're going? To see Randy Senior?"

"That's correct," Jess confirmed. "Although Randy Junior is going to be there as well, I believe."

I made another turn, speeding up a little. "Does this mean you're going to let me beat him senseless after all?"

"It most certainly does not," Jess denied, and I rolled my eyes. Of course not. She'd never be that nice.

I stared at the road for a moment, then finally went ahead with the question that had been on my mind for a while. "Did you watch the tapes?"

I didn't look at Jess when she answered. "I did."

I waited, but she apparently has no sympathy, so I had to go ahead and ask the next question too. "Where the ones with Hannah… I mean, was there more than one – "

"There was just one video of her," Jess said. It may have been the first time I ever appreciated her interrupting me. Which, considering how many times she's done it, is actually quite impressive.

"Good," I said, almost under my breath. I may be furious with Hannah right now, but that didn't change how much I cared about her – she _was_ my sister after all, and I had no desire for – well, _you_ know what.

"Multiple copies of the same video," Jess added, even though you could tell she didn't want to.

What happened next was interesting. Up until now, my fury towards Randy had been raging fiercely, rendering me practically incoherent in the desire to cause him severe pain. Now that I had it confirmed that he was illegally producing – perhaps even selling – home videos of my little sister having sex, though: that made me go calm. Calm, and determined.

So after my initial reaction, which was to quietly swear, "Godammit," under my breath, I actually laughed. Then I addressed Jess: "And you really think I'm not going to kill him when I see him?"

I wasn't imagining anything vicious or bloody now. Just coldly premeditating a murder, that's all.

"You're not," Jess insisted. "Because, for one thing, he's not worth going to jail for. And for another, those guys back there? They're armed."

I had to acknowledge her logic. Well, part of it. "Yeah," I said. "Well, they're not going to be around forever. Randy's going to have to go somewhere alone sometime, and when he does – "

Jess interrupted me again, but I really don't think anything more needed to be said anyway.

"Rob," she said sharply, enough so that I actually turned my head and looked at her. Well, glanced. I _was_ driving. "You're not going to lay a finger on Randy Whitehead. You're going to let me handle this. That's what you brought me here from New York for, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Like hell," I said, getting angry myself now. "This is _not_ what I brought you from New York for. I brought you from New York to find my sister, and you – "

"There's a spot," Jess said, and I quickly pulled into it with the ease that comes of practice. It's very hard to find a spot around here, a fact which annoys me whenever I try to go shopping. A lot of people just give up and go to the mall, but I… Well. I hate the mall. So I'm used to dealing with the annoying parking around this area.

" – found my sister," I continued without acknowledging the interruption. Then I turned to look at Jess as I kept talking. "For which I thank you. But I can't sit back and let this guy get away with what he did to her. I can't do it, Jess. You can't ask me to."

Jess didn't look at me, at first. "I'm not," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. Then she turned and met my eyes dead on. "Randy's going to pay for what he did. Just not with his blood. And you're not going to go to jail – or worse, the bottom of some lake."

I glared at her.

Jess glared back.

…And, dammit, you all know how that ended, right? Of course you do, if you're reading this. You should be fully aware of exactly how pitiful I am when it comes to Jess – now more than ever.

I wanted to – I wanted _so badly_ to march in there and just plain attack that guy. I didn't really care about the consequences, even though I was more than smart enough to realize that Jess was right about what they would be. Honestly though, that didn't _matter_ to me.

But Jess did. And – ever since I first met her, it seems like – I can't refuse her anything. I may want to more than anything else, but I swear I physically _can't_.

Which, really, when you think about it, should answer completely the question of who exactly pushed who away. Jess has never had any problem refusing me anything.

I spun away from Jess's eyes and slammed my fists into the steering wheel, just once. I could keep doing it till kingdom come, but I knew it wouldn't make me feel any better or relieve any of the anger or tension I felt.

Jess apparently didn't realize this. "Feel better?" she asked.

I clenched my jaw. "No."

"Good," Jess said. "Let's go."

And, after climbing out of the truck and locking it, we did just that.

* * *

**Anonymous reviews:**

**FoggyMoon: **LOL, I wouldn't give up! I keep telling you guys, that'll never happen. And... hm. I'm not sure I enjoy this whole punishment thing, despite those lovely adjectives. I miss the lovely long reviews with the fave quotes and everything! ...But I suppose I have to take my lumps. Maybe the fact that I've updated again will appease you, hmmm?

**nikki: **Thank you, I'm glad to hear it!

**Aussiegal:** Yes, yes, it was a very appropriate word. *hangs head* Still, I will be eternally grateful for your compost - see, recycling is good, and not just for the environment!


	10. Chapter 10

This was ready yesterday, but my internet kind of hates me.

* * *

We were waved right in. I'm not sure if Jess set things up beforehand or if the mob guys made Randy Senior – henceforth referred to as 'Whitehead' to clarify things and save time – feel secure enough to just go with the flow, but we hadn't even gotten inside the building when one of them – the mob guys, I mean, these two big guys wearing suits and talking with Chicago accents – intercepted us and said, in response to Jess's asking if the guy was in, "Both Mr. Whiteheads will see you."

I was keeping it under control. I was. I didn't even make a snotty comment about Randy being big and brave with his mafia or anything – that's how reserved I was. No, I just silently followed Jess, who in turn silently followed the mob guys, right through the lobby.

I also don't know what Whitehead the elder told his secretary (I'm inclined to guess that he didn't mention the mob or the illegal porn but hey, you never know), but she sure was eager to give us whatever we wanted. She jumped up the second she saw us, and went all anxiously, "Mr. Whitehead will see you right away. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?" She was acting like her job depended on it – which might have been what her boss told her, come to think of it.

"I'm fine," Jess said with a little smile.

For my part, I chose to smile a bit less and, well, growl instead. Hey, at least I was true to my feelings, even if the secretary briefly looked like I'd just killed her puppy. "I'm good."

She recovered fast enough though, and smiled diplomatically at Jess. "Well then," she said. "Follow me."

To be honest, I didn't really take note of our surroundings much. I mean, I registered the whole switch from lobby to office and everything, but I didn't take in much of the scenery except a desk and four chairs – can't say I minded, either. I didn't like the buildings they built; I doubt I'd be so very impressed by the place where it all happened. Anyway, I was too busy focusing immediately on the… creature that I really _really_ wanted to do some damage to. And, after he started talking, on the person who had spawned this pervert and somehow failed to realize his mistake, instead actually _raising_ him. Oh, and some teenage girl, just sitting there looking vaguely confused.

"Well, well," The big lug (and I mean big. The guy was about as wide as Jess is tall – in a stocky way though, not fat exactly. This was different from his son, who was kind of skinny and who I could definitely take, easy, if Jess hadn't made me agree not to) behind the desk said smarmily. "Are you telling me this little bitty thing here is the one who's been causin' all this ruckus?"

I have no idea who he was talking to, but Randy was the only one who really acknowledged the comment. Eying me, he muttered – but still loud enough that everyone could easily hear his words – "Her friend's not so little."

I, I am proud (-ish) to report, did not even flinch. Not that such a comment would have bugged me normally, but under the circumstances I think it's impressive that I refrained from even glancing in his direction. Instead, I made a conscious effort to focus all my attention on Jess and Whitehead. That was where the real action was happening.

"Hello, Mr. Whitehead," Jess said with a tight little smile, walking over to shake hands with the big guy. "I'm Jessica Mastriani. It's very nice to meet you."

I don't really know where all these manners were coming from. Jess had never been one to hide how she really felt, at least not in my experience, and I knew that these people disgusted her. Still, she was being all civil and polite. I guess I approve of that, seeing as if this were any other situation I'd want her to do things carefully like this, but today at least I couldn't really bring myself to care. And I _definitely_ couldn't do the same thing. In fact, the less I talked was probably the better, given how I'd sounded talking to the completely uninvolved secretary.

"And you, and you," Whitehead practically shouted, shaking Jess's hand energetically. He then looked at me expectantly, as if I should be next in line; but I didn't move. Just stood there with an expression I believe could be described as 'thunderous'. After a few seconds of this, Whitehead cracked: "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Sure," Jess said amiably, and then made the introductions. "Mr. Whitehead, this is Rob Wilkins. Your son, Randy, is acquainted with Rob's younger sister, Hannah."

I'd been trying not to look at Randy. But when he sat down abruptly I couldn't help but glance over. He was staring at me with a sickened expression, going a sort of off-white color.

"Oh God," he moaned, and – I have to admit it – I felt a twinge of pleasure. Damn right, he'd better pray.

The teenage girl, who I'd hardly noticed before, chose now to grab everyone's attention, turning towards Randy and asking all anxiously, "Who's Hannah? What's going on, Randy? Who's Hannah?"

Poor kid. I felt a brief moment of comradery with her – yes, even _as_ she was practically clutching to Randy's arm and batting her eyes at him. After all, she was probably the only person in this room who knew less than me.

Randy didn't even look at his – I'm making a (pretty safe, I think) assumption here, since no one bothered to introduce her when that was happening – girlfriend, too busy blinking, horrified, in my direction. "I'll tell you later," he muttered.

Jess turned her polite smile full force on the girl, who looked a little put off. Whether this expression was from her boyfriend's blatant dismissal of her or from Jess's (kind of scary, at least in my opinion) polite face, I don't know.

"You must be Kristin," Jess said, going over to the girl – Kristin, I guess – and holding out a hand. "Jessica Mastriani."

Poor Kristin. She looked completely lost. "Oh," she said, shaking Jess's hand. "You're a friend of Randy's? He's told you about me?"

"Not exactly," Jess demurred. "I've seen your video."

My glare sharpened a tad. Randy's face became a shade lighter. Whitehead's plastic smile slipped a notch. Only Jess and Kristin's expressions didn't change – Jess still with that politely bland expression, Kristin still looking completely lost.

Oh, and the mob guys, I guess. They had taken up position flanking the door and were currently practicing very hard for their interviews at the wax museum next Tuesday. Not a twitch from them.

"Video?" Kristin asked, oblivious to the ratcheting tension in the room. "What video?"

"Oh," Jess said innocently, and I winced on behalf of Kristin, "you don't know about the video Randy made of you and he having sex? The one he's distributing all over southern Indiana, and – if I'm not mistaken, across state lines… which is a felony, I think."

Kristin – laughed, which I have to admit was unexpected. In fact, I would have been completely shocked were it not for the brittle edge to said laughter. "Randy and I never made a video," she said. "What's she talking about, Randy?"

Now, I'm aware that this is going to make me sound like an eighty-year-old woman who lives alone with a ridiculous amount of cats, but honestly, the next thought to pop into my head regarding Kristin was: poor dear.

Hey. Don't laugh at me. I don't even _like_ cats. Or tea.

"All righty then," Whitehead bellowed, rising out of his chair. "I understand from my son here, Miss Mastriani, that you stole some property of his. And apparently you confirmed this fact to my two associates here –" he nodded at the mob guys who, I was impressed to note, didn't even appear to be breathing. That interview was going to go well. "I'll admit I wasn't completely aware of the extent of Randy's little enterprise until last night when he explained it to me. I take it this all has something to do with this young man's sister?"

He looked at me. I looked back.

"My _underage_ sister," I pointed out icily.

Whitehead took a deep, slow breath, sitting back down. His reaction was not exactly what I'd hoped: "I see," he said slowly. "That _is_ unfortunate."

Then he actually went back to the fake-polite thing! It was bad enough with Jess doing it, but this was getting ridiculous. "Where are my manners?" he asked Jess and I. "Sit down, you two, please."

I was perfectly content where I was, thank you, but Jess sat down and then kind of tugged pointedly at my shirt for a while until I finally stiffly sunk into one of the leather chairs. Now they were all full, in some ridiculous parody of a relaxed meeting.

Kristin successfully broke any impending awkward silence, piping away in that worried tone of hers with even more awkward (for Randy) questions: "Randy? What's going on? Who's this Hannah person? Why is that man there so angry? What are these videos they keep talking about?"

Either the girl was a bit slow, or she was in denial. Hopefully, unlike Hannah, her denial wouldn't last too long. Then maybe she and 'that man there' could be angry together, seeing as Jess wasn't willing to oblige me.

Everyone ignored Kristin (and yes, I thought it again, but I am a distinctly not frail young man who always preferred dogs anyway, remember that).

"Miss Mastriani," Whitehead said pleasantly, "before we go any further, I have to tell you how truly honored I am to meet you. When Randy here told me he'd met Lighting Girl – the one the television show is based on – well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. For one thing, that show is one of my wife's favorites – right, Randy?"

Several points. First, _no_ feather could knock that man over. I doubt even one from the roc, a mythological bird rumored to have carried off baby elephants for its meals, could have done the trick. He was _solid_. Secondly, I have seen every single episode of that TV show, and let me tell you, it's not really that great. Comes nowhere near close to the real thing. And I'm not even in it, which is frankly insulting! I have played a very important part in all of Jess's adventures, and have the scars to prove it! …Mental scars, that is, since the only real injury I ever sustained was a concussion. But still.

Anyway.

Randy had been studying the floor for a little while now. He glanced up at his father very briefly at this, but his eyes seemed to get caught on me, and he looked back down quickly. "Yeah. Right."

Whitehead continued his toadying undaunted. "And for another, well, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you did for this country during your tour in Afghanistan. That's the kind of sacrifice only a true patriot would make, and Randy's mother and I – well, if there's one thing we admire, that's patriotism. Love for this great country of ours is something we tried to instill in our son – didn't we, Randy?" Whitehead didn't give his son enough time to answer, which was good, since Randy looked like the next thing out of his mouth might be the contents of his stomach rather than any coherent words. Good. "I mean, where else but in America could the son of a dirt-poor farmer like myself end up owning more property than anyone in this great state with the exception of the Catholic Church?"

No one answered, but Whitehead didn't seem put off, laughing heartily. The mob guys at the door joined in, sadly, but then I suppose abruptly switching out of character and startling museum-goers is part of the job too. I don't know about the suck-up laughter, but it _could_ be practice, I guess.

Jess kept up the polite charade, smiling in that way that says 'you are so very not funny, but I'm going to be nice and let you pretend you were'. Randy, Kristin, and I just stuck with what we knew – looking sick, confused, and murderous, respectively.

Eventually Whitehead took the hint, and went back to talking. "And I'd like to add that the wife and I are big fans of your father's restaurants. Why, we eat at least one meal a week at Mastriani's. And I'm addicted to the burgers at Joe's. Aren't I, Randy?"

Knowing better than to attempt to talk – which was probably good for Whitehead's gleaming floor, but mildly disappointed me – Randy just nodded. Jess, finally done with nodding nicely along at all of Whitehead's (completely unrelated to this whole issue) compliments, got to the point. "Well, that's all just great, Mr. Whitehead. But that doesn't get us any closer to resolving the situation we have here. Your son's behaviour has upset my friend here very much. I mean, his sister is a very young, inexperienced girl. And your son not only violated her –"

Here Randy made the stupidest decision in a long line of stupid decisions and very nearly brought about his own demise: "I did not," he protested abruptly. "She wasn't even a virgin when I met her!"

I leapt up, eager to dish out retribution (and I so did _not_ need to know that, God!) but sadly, Randy's life was saved by his father. Whitehead roared, "Shut up, Randall!"

"But, Dad," Randy protested, apparently unaware of his close brush with the white tunnel. "I didn't –"

"You shut up," Whitehead hollered, looking very much like a square sort of tomato, "until I tell you different. I think you've caused enough trouble for one day, don't you?"

Randy cowered back in silent assent, looking worriedly between his father and I, who was still standing, clenching my fists.

I had agreed. I _had_ done that. Couldn't touch him.

He made it very hard to remember that.

Whitehead turned to Jess. "I apologize for my son's outburst there, Miss Mastriani, and Mr. – I'm sorry, young man, I didn't catch your name."

He had been informed of it already, but I the tension _was_ high. I opened my mouth to refresh his memory, but I only got as far as "Wil–" before Jess interrupted me.

Second thing I had said, this entire time, and I was interrupted. _Me_, not the statutory rapist dealing out illegal porn, not the father who had dubious wax-museum – sorry, mob – connections, made very ugly buildings, and actually _supported_ his idiot son. Me.

Typical.

"His name doesn't matter," Jess said. I sat down again and attempted to refrain from feeling put-out, doing a passable job. "As I was saying, the fact is, your son violated his sister's right to privacy by filming, without her knowledge, private acts on video, that he then went on to copy and distribute – "

"I had her permission!" Randy inserted here, in a blatant lie since Hannah had had no _idea_. Actually, she probably thought it was a love note or something. I'd lost almost all faith in her superior discernment where this dingbat was concerned. "I got her signature on a release form and everything!"

"But that's not a binding contract," Jess informed Whitehead, ignoring the younger in favor of continuing to explain the legal ramifications. "Since Hannah is only fifteen years old – "

Here Jess was interrupted again (wow, talk about turnaround) by Randy, who this time chose to frantically let loose with, "She told me she was eighteen!"

Of course she did. Isn't that on the script? You know, that every teenage runaway-to-live-with-older-boyfriend is issued. It goes something like this…

**Inappropriate Older Idiot:** We are soulmates, so age doesn't matter. I love you. Sign here.

**Foolish Lovestruck Runaway:** You're right. You're always right. That's why I'll sign this contract without a second thought. Oh, by the way, I'm eighteen, not the fifteen I look like.

**Inappropriate Older Boyfriend:** That's great! Then we can show our love by having sex whenever it's convenient for me to come and see you, instead of talking or anything silly like that. Wait just a second for me to set up the video camera. And I love you, by the way.

**Foolish Lovestruck Runaway:** I love you too! Oh, how could anyone say this is wrong?

…You know, something like that. It's part of the standard package.

Anyway, Whitehead didn't seem all that pleased with his little boy now, lifting one hammy fist to smash this crystal golf-ball paperweight angrily down on his blotter. All his body language foretold violence, and had I not been furious with him too, I might have smiled. "God damn it, Randy!" he howled. "I told you to shut up!"

Randy fell silent once again, mouth quivering a little. He looked a bit like a trapped rodent, except for the way his chin wobbled ever so slightly. I wondered when the sobs would hit.

Of course, Kristin looked like she was about to start weeping as well, which was kind of a shame, but she'd get over it a lot faster than her boyfriend. At least, if I any say in it, which I had to keep reminding myself I didn't (for reference, 'I' in this sentence refers to my fist).

"I'm sorry, Miss Mastriani," Whitehead said again, trying to snatch back control of the situation. "And that apology extends to you, too, young man. I can perfectly understand your outrage." I held back a scoff. "I myself am outraged. I had no idea that my son was engaging in the – ahem – film business. I am as disgusted by it as I'm sure you are. So please tell me, what can I do to make this up to you – to both of you? Because I surely do want to set things right."

Hm, can you reverse time – no, not to undo the affair with Hannah, to undo your son's birth? No? Then sorry, not satisfied.

Jess seemed a bit more willing to cooperate than I. Well, in a way. Since the next thing she said was, "Well, in that case, you can ask your son to turn himself in to the officers who should be waiting in your reception area right about now."

Ooh.

* * *

**Anonymous reviews:**

**Aussiegal: **Don't worry, I don't think it's mean! I should watch out for that, you're right. I'm glad you liked the original conversations in it, though, they were always something I wondered about in the book. And Bob is just _lovely_.

**nikki: **I'm glad you liked it! Thanks.

**Mel: **Hey, I didn't take it as creepy at all. Thank you. :)

**Kristin: **Like Randy's girlfriend Kristin? LOL. I love that part too - it's always so clear in my head.

**buttercup:** Wow, that was long and comprehensive. ;) But sure.

**Gratia Astra: **Wow, take a chill pill! :) But thanks a lot.


	11. Chapter 11

Let's just say... I hate exams. And this was fun to write. Rob should nearly kill more people, it's fun. ;)

AND I have a favorite sentence, which sadly would not have fit for Rob to notice, so I couldn't include it: "Kristin, who'd put away her compact and was staring, transfixed, at the way Rob's muscles were bunched beneath his shirt sleeves (I'd have a word with her about that later)" ...It always made me laugh.

Oh, oh! And ALSO, I'm going out tonight in a few minutes to have dinner/watch _How To Train Your Dragon_ with a friend, so I'm afraid all the chapter 10 reviewers who weren't anonymous will not get replies until after that's over. Sorry guys.

* * *

There was, following Jess's statement, a collective blink, in which I fell in love with her all over again.

Then the intercom buzzed.

Whitehead snatched at the distraction it provided, snapping, "God damn it, Thelma, I said no interruptions during this meeting!"

"I'm sorry, Randy," the receptionist said, sounding even less certain of her job security than before. "But there are about a half dozen police officers out here who say they need to see you right away."

Whitehead the elder copied his son from earlier in the meeting, his face turning from tomato-red to a sort of cauliflower color. Maybe a little pastier.

He glared at Jess, who smiled right back. "You conniving little bitch," he hissed.

Wax museum hopefuls took this as a cue to – in unison, very nicely done – pull out identical cell phones and start whispering into them. Unlike Randy, they managed to do so at a level too quiet for the rest of us to eavesdrop.

Randy decided to play puppet-whose-strings-have-just-been-cut, slumping bonelessly down into his chair. His dad produced some Mylanta and poured himself a capful, looking ill. Silence may have reigned, but once again Kristin saved us.

"I don't understand," she said in confusion. Why are the police here? Who is this Hannah person? And why does everyone keep talking about videotapes?"

Jess looked at her and said, bluntly, "Your boyfriend has been secretly filming the two of you having sex, then selling the tapes over the Internet on amateur porn sites."

Kristin frowned. "No, he hasn't."

I nearly groaned. Hannah again.

Jess, who hadn't argued with my sister and thus did not know the true level of frustration dealing with a Foolish Teenage Runaway could bring, soldiered on. "Yes," she affirmed. "He has."

"No, he hasn't," Kristin said. And then, unexpectedly, she smirked and used logic. Well, of a sort. "And I think I would know. I mean, I'd have noticed a camera in the bedroom."

"The camera was hidden in the bedroom closet," Jess informed her. "Behind the mirror – which was really two-way glass – over the dresser."

Kristin blinked. I held my breath. Okay, not really – in reality I just relaxed a little in my seat and watched with interest – but it's an expression, all right? "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh," Jess confirmed. "Kristin. I've seen the tapes. You're wearing a matching red tiger-stripe-bra-and-panty set. You also have a tendency to squeal."

Didn't need to know that. Really, could have done without.

Kristin spun to Randy, becoming the third person in the office to turn a deathly pale color. Now only Jess and I were left. Well, and the wax museum mobsters. I kept forgetting about them – guess that meant they were doing a good job.

"How would she know that?" Kristin screeched. "How does she know that?"

"Because I've seen the tapes, Kristin," Jess put in, still smiling. Then she added what turned out to be the clincher. "I've seen _all_ the tapes. Carly. Jasmine. Beth."

Out of nowhere, Kristin slapped Randy. Hard. "_You told me Jasmine was your sister_," she hissed.

Randy pulled his legs up and bent his head down slightly, hiding. Pitiful really, but by no means was it an unwelcome sight.

"That's funny," Jess said. "That's what Jasmine says he told her about you, Kristin."

We all turned to stare at her (except Whitehead, who was chugging his capful of Mylanta, and the mob guys, who were still whispering into their phones). "You talked to Jasmine?" Randy asked in horror, conveniently voicing all of our confusion.

"Oh," Jess said, no longer smiling but still perfectly calm. "I talked to them all this morning, Randy. And you know, I have to say, even though you made sure to select such a wide variety of different girls – blondes, brunettes, short, skinny, tall – they all had one thing in common. And that was that they didn't know they were being filmed. And they're all pretty pissed off about it. Most of them pissed off enough to press charges."

Ah. So that was why she didn't answer the phone.

"Oh, sweet Lord," Whitehead moaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Randy took this moment to adopt the fetal position, hiding in his seat from the rain of slaps Kristin was aiming at him. I was… glad, I suppose, to see him get his due at least a little bit, but really, the whole thing was kind of pathetic. I couldn't believe he was being brought down by _this_.

Maybe it was a good thing Jess had made me agree not to touch him. One punch and his head would come off.

…No, actually, that would still be nice to see.

"You jerk!" Kristin was yelling – or rather, shrieking. "You lied to me! You lied! You said you loved me! You said I was the only one! You said you'd always take care of me! Where am I going to go now? Huh? Where?"

Uh. Wow.

"You could go home," Jess suggested, and Kristin stopped slapping briefly, sniffling. Randy did not uncurl, just in case.

"No, I can't," Kristin told Jess. "My dad kicked me out."

Jess shook her head. "He's willing to let you come back. At least, he was when I spoke to him this morning."

Kristin froze. "You… you talked to my dad?"

"If you're Kristin Pine from Brazil, Indiana," Jess said, "then yeah, I did. Your dad was pretty relieved to hear from me, as a matter of fact. He and your mom have been worried about you." Jess paused, then glanced over at Whitehead pointedly. "Well, who wouldn't worry about their runaway fifteen-year-old?"

A muffled "Christ," emanated from the head-in-hands man. I watched, amused.

"How… how did you know?" Kristin asked Jess incredulously. I rolled my eyes, and finally joined the conversation.

"She's Lightning Girl," I said flatly.

Jess glanced over at me and I resisted a shrug. What? It was true, right? Actually, this whole meeting was involving me less and less, though I was prepared to step in should it become necessary. But it was all going rather nicely, and even if _I_ didn't get to attack Randy, at least someone did. Plus, jail seemed to be on the table, which (if less preferable than death) was pretty satisfying. So I was just kind of sitting there, watching everything happen.

Well. Until Whitehead spoke next, raising his head from his hands and saying in a deadly-quiet voice, "You're going to regret this, girlie. I know you did it to get back at my boy for what he did to your friend's sister. But dragging in all those other girls and the police… you're going to regret it."

Oh. Really. I leaned forward in my chair, muscles tensing as I glared at Whitehead. "Excuse me," I said – hey, there you go, that was polite! I'd managed it! "But are you _threatening_ her?"

"Oh, you're damned straight I'm threatening her," Whitehead snarled back at me. "Her. You. Her parents. This," he turned to Jess, "is war, girlie. You crossed the wrong man, this time."

I was more than ready to step in at that, but Jess spoke up before I could make a move, still sounding calm and composed. "I don't think so," she said simply. "And here's why. The only person going down here today is your son. If anything happens to me, or to my family or friends, you're going to be joining your son in the big house. Or, in your case, I guess you'd call it the doghouse."

Whitehead, caught off guard, blinked at Jess in confusion. "Just what in the hell," he asked, "are you talking about?"

"Well, as the owner and developer of the Fountain Bleu apartment complex, you are, of course, ultimately responsible for the management of it, including who you employ to run it. …In this case, that would be your son, Randy, who, as we know now, took advantage of his position there to illicitly house underage runaways, then film them in sex acts with himself – " Jess cut her explanation off for a moment, saying, "Sorry," to Kristin.

Kristin reined in her reactionary sob to a mere sniffle. "It's okay."

Jess resumed her speech. "Obviously, this leaves you pretty open to both criminal and civil charges. You're in a very vulnerable situation right now."

Whitehead stared at Jess. No longer bursting with fury, he seemed a little perplexed. "Just what, exactly, are you saying? Are you trying to offer us some kind of deal?"

I did not like the sound of that. Negotiating with these guys – when we already _had_ them – was neither a sound nor satisfactory plan. But before I could voice this opinion, the intercom crackled again.

"Mr. Whitehead," Thelma said in a strained voice. "I don't know how much longer these police officers are willing to wait on you…"

Whitehead didn't groan, but he looked close to it. Instead, he entreated his trusty museum friends' aid: "Go on out there," he said. "And see if you can stall them."

The one on the left of the door nodded curtly. "Will do," he said. Then both of them left, closing the door behind them.

It was a bit of a shame to see them go, as they had been an entertaining aside this whole time, but then it was probably a good thing that there were no longer any guns in the room. This way, if I felt the need to really get violent, there was no one who could stop me.

Well, physically. Jess could hold me back – was in fact doing so – without ever touching me. But, you know what I mean.

The door firmly shut, Whitehead turned back to Jess. "Now. Just what kind of deal are we talking about?"

"Oh, no deal for your son," Jess was swift to say, thank God. "Obviously. But for you… well, there's a piece of property I know you have your eye on – Pine Heights Elementary School?"

Whitehead met Jess's eyes calculatively. "That's right. You were at the city council meeting last night. That's where Randy said he met you."

"Right," Jess agreed. "Your plan is to convert the building to condos. If, however, you could see your way to abandoning the condo plan and put your support – and a sizable donation – towards establishing an alternative school there, I think I might be able to work out a deal with the offended parties that will keep you out of jail and civil court as well."

Slowly, very slowly, my horror at the thought of a deal began to leak away as I, staring at Jess (along with everyone else in the room), finally put the pieces together. What they then formed, might require a bit of explanation, as I haven't mentioned it at all up to now.

You see, Jess is the youngest of three Mastriani kids, and the only girl. The younger of her brothers is some sort of computer whiz or something, and he was one of the people staying with her in New York. I don't think I've ever really interacted with him, so I don't know much about him. But Jess's oldest brother has become a really good friend of mine. Doug – his name is actually Douglas, but he's never corrected me so I keep the nickname – is schizophrenic and used to be a complete recluse. People actually used to call him 'Boo Radley' and I for one thought very little of both his mental state and fitness as a brother – this last brought on by the way he led the Feds straight to us back at Jess's music camp.

But then, following my dinner at the Mastriani's house and subsequent 'break-up' with Jess, we began to talk a bit. And even more so when Jess went away to help in the war. He'd gotten a lot better in terms of leaving his room, and his new job at the comic store meant that I ran into him every week when I went to pick up a Spider-man. We often got to talking, and though it first started just as mutual chatting about Jess, we ended up being pretty good friends. Doug was the only Mastriani who believed the truth about what had happened with Nancy, and he's been the one responsible for my knowledge of Jess's current life. If it wasn't for him, I would never have known where to find Jess when Hannah went missing.

Doug is also dating Tasha, the sister of the black kid who got killed by those crazy True American militia a few years ago. Together, the two of them recently began heading an effort to try to build a new alternative school in place of Pine Heights Elementary School. It's a good idea, and a lot of people in the community support it, but Whitehead has a lot of money and his plan is less controversial, not to mention easier. Oh, and he has a lot of money.

But if Jess could use this as an opportunity to blackmail him to give up his efforts and to give Doug the money he needed, then Doug could actually build his school. It would make him ecstatic – the thing is pretty much all he's been talking about lately – and might _just_ be worth letting Whitehead escape jail. Barely. As long as his son still went for a very very _very_ long time. Life would be nice.

So anyway, there's the background. Jess's plan was actually pretty genius, if it worked, and there was no reason it shouldn't. After all, we already _had_ them, and the police in the lobby were proof enough of that. Whitehead didn't have much of a choice.

He seemed to realize this, because even though he looked furious, he asked, "Just how much of a donation are we talking about?"

"Oh, nothing much," Jess said lightly, guaranteeing that it would be a lot. "To a man of your wealth, anyway. And you could write it off as a tax deduction, I'm sure."

Whitehead's voice was flat and cold. "How. Much."

Jess shrugged. "I think three million dollars would work."

Whitehead slammed the golf-ball paperweight down on his blotter again, and I really couldn't blame him. That was a _lot_ of money.

"There is no way!" He yelled. "No way! Just who in the hell do you think – I have friends in this town, girlie. I'll take my chances in court! I'll pay off whoever I have to! I'll – "

Then again, he had money to spare. I stood up, and though I spoke quietly, he cut himself off abruptly to listen. "You'll do," I commanded him, "what she tells you to do."

I feel I should take a moment here to tell you something. Yes, I've been making jokes and being rather blasé about everything going on during this meeting. Sure, I've said I felt removed from it, and that since Randy was going to prison, I was as satisfied as I could be.

I haven't been _completely_ honest with you.

The fact is, I was still furious. To use a stupid simile, my fury was like a volcano dormant for the moment but liable to erupt any second. The only thing holding me back, was Jess. And though she was doing an admirable job of it, and I had been able to joke about things and remain decently calm up until now, not even she could make me really any less angry.

Why is this relevant? Well, it's relevant because the next thing Whitehead did, after I told him what he was going to do, was look up at me, straight in the face. And _laugh_.

"Oh yeah?" he _laughed_. "Or what?"

It only took a second. I swear I wasn't even aware of moving. But the next thing I knew, I had one hand fisted around his shirtfront, pulling him forward across his desk, and the other had snatched up that heavy golf-ball paperweight and was pressing it into his neck.

"Or," I answered without changing my dangerous, quiet tone in the slightest, "I'll kill you."

Somehow, even in this position, Whitehead still failed to take me seriously, something that was honestly starting to piss me off. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded in a strained voice. "Do you know who I am? I can have you snuffed out like a candle, fella."

Yeah, on second thought it was a wonderful thing that the mobsters and their guns were no longer in the room. I pressed harder with the paperweight, cutting off his ability to breathe. "Not if you're already dead."

Jess stood up and walked over to join us, taking her time as Whitehead's face got redder and redder and he strained to escape, reaching feebly for the intercom button. It wasn't hard to hold him still, though. For such a big man, he had remarkably little muscle, completely unlike Chick.

She bent down slightly and spoke pleasantly to my captive. "You may know people in this town, Mr. Whitehead. But the fact is, Rob here probably knows more. And the people he knows are local. He doesn't need to send all the way to Chicago for muscle. So let's put aside the physical threats for the moment, because the fact is, you're going to do as I say, and not because if you don't, Rob will kill you. You're going to do as I say because if you don't, I'm going to tell your wife about Eric."

You have to hand it to her, Jess can always say something that will surprise sixty percent of the room.

"Who's Eric?" Randy uncurled and paused whimpering to ask.

"Who's Eric?" Kristin, stopped… well, whatever she had been doing, which seemed to be watching me choke Whitehead, to ask.

"Yeah," I said, not stopping the choking, but turning my head to look at Jess in confusion. "Who's Eric?"

"Okay!"

I must not have been choking him properly – or else he _really_ didn't want anyone to know who Eric was – because Whitehead somehow summoned up the energy and breath to grasp tightly to my hands and say, "Okay. Okay."

I let go, and he collapsed to his desk, panting.

Watching him closely – not at all averse to choking him again if necessary – I confirmed: "Okay you'll do what she says?"

Whitehead nodded, red leaking out of his face. "I'll do as she says," he rasped. "Just don't… tell my wife… about Eric."

"Fine," Jess said. "But you should know, I'm not the only one who knows about Eric, Mr. Whitehead. And if anything should happen to me, my associates will –"

My guess is that she was bluffing, since I had never known Jess to possess any 'associates', but it didn't matter. "Nothing will happen to you," Whitehead promised, now turning pale again. "I swear it. Just don't tell."

"Deal," Jess said with a grin, and reach over the desk to shake his hand. Then she pushed the intercom button.

"Say it."

Whitehead coughed and straightened out his collar and tie for a moment before speaking more-or-less composedly into the microphone. "You can send the police in for Randy Junior now, Thelma."

This charming display of fatherly loyalty finally prompted Randy to react, and he leapt out of his seat. "No!" he shouted desperately. "Dad! You can't –"

"I'm sorry, Randy," his dad told him heavily. "But I don't have a choice."

"But I did it for you, Dad," Randy begged. "To show you I could handle more responsibility. You can't let them do this! You can't!"

The door opened then, letting in several policemen who marched right over to Randy and began to frisk him. But it didn't look like Whitehead had been going to say anything anyway.

Doug wandered in next, remarkably casual with an X-Men comic in hand. "Oh, hey, Jess," he said. "How'd I do? Did I get 'em in here on time, like you asked?"

"_Perfect_ timing, Doug," Jess smiled. "Perfect timing."

I, avidly watching the protesting Randy be handcuffed and none-too-gently escorted from the room, had to agree.

* * *

**Anonymous reviews:**

**Jadeee: **Sorry, sorry! I _am_ only human, you know. ;)

**Kelsey: **So do we all, I think. Thanks for the review.

**Aussiegal: **I _love_ writing Rob's random quirky thoughts. It's quite possibly my favorite part of doing this series, so have no fear - I won't refrain from adding any more that feel appropriate or pop into my head. As for "lemons", that's always confused me too, but I seem to gather that it means smut. In other words, the stuff I do _not_ write, so there's your answer. :)

**Severity: **Wow, thanks. However, these are the only MC books that I own the full series of or have read more than once/all of, other than the Mediator books. And as far as those go, there's already an excellent series of them as-told-by-Jesse out there, so there's not much point in me doing that. But thanks for the compliment, and I suppose you never do know if I may one day in the future buy the Princess Diary series or some other MC stuff and decide to do this again. Anyway, I'm working my way to the end, and thanks for the review!

**YyyYYAYAYAY: **Nice name, LOL. Thanks for the review.


	12. Chapter 12

Happy Boxing Day, guys. Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it, and happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, whatever other December holidays you all might celebrate. I personally am a Christmas gal, so consider this my present to you all.

There are only about three chapters left, and I'm writing regularly for MYAYMM again, so you'll get the book's lovely ending soon enough. And thank you all, for not giving up on me or this story during its long hiatus. You guys rock.

* * *

What followed that glorious, glorious moment was nothing short of several hours of being interviewed/ignored by the police. Standard procedure at this point, and besides, I was still flying high from the look on Randy's blubbering face as the cops yanked him from the office. So I didn't mind it too much. Plus I tend to be the ignored one most of the time; Jess always gets the brunt of the questioning. That's probably because she's always the one with the plan and doesn't tell enough of it to me for any lengthy questioning to be worth it – see, I was even feeling good enough that I had found a way to transform Jess's tight-lipped-ness into a _good_ quality.

Anyway, even Jess got off lucky this time. That Kristin kid on the other hand, they were all over her. Important witness, I suppose. This meant, though, that Jess and I – and Doug of course, who had thoughtfully stuck around – got out of there a bit early. It still took a while though, and being extremely bloodthirsty takes a lot out of a guy: I was _hungry_.

"What would you say to some lunch?" I asked, as soon as we escaped the courthouse. Jess seemed to feel the same way I did, if the way she nearly drooled at the mention of potential food was any indicator.

"I'd say hallelujah." She grinned. "Douglas?"

Doug shook his head, and the casual expression on his face was more than enough to signify danger. I braced myself. "Sorry," he said, "no can do. I gotta get back to the shop. Someone's got to make sure that the graphic-novel needs of this community are met. But you guys go on ahead. You know, there's a really nice place Tasha and I have been going lately, out by Storey, Indiana, that's completely worth the drive. It's right next to this river, and real romantic – "

Doug was looking at Jess as he made this completely unsubtle little attempt to get us out on a date, and she was glaring suspiciously back. That was really lucky, because I have no _idea_ what kinds of expressions crossed over my face at the mention of the restaurant in Storey. He may have only discovered it recently – Doug was still getting over his recluse tendencies, and he mostly stuck to town limits – but ever since I got my license (and okay, fine, before then too) I've been taking long drives around the country with no particular destination in mind. I just love driving around on my Indian, and I tend not to really care if it's close by or not. As a result I know a lot of the surrounding area, in a much wider radius than anyone might expect, and I'd known about that particular restaurant in Storey for years. I liked it a lot too, and Doug was right – it _was_ really romantic, but not in a super-cheesy way. I could actually see myself fitting in there and still enjoying a romantic evening. Not to sound like an advertisement for the place or anything, but it was just casual and just fancy enough, and I'd had big plans centered there once. I'd really, really been looking forward to being there with Jess, and –

– And the point is, it was currently on the very bottom of the list of places I would like to take Jess to in the entire _world_, tied with prison and Antarctica. Well, knowing Jess, I'd always expected some sort of prison visit sooner or later, but you get what I mean. I'm pretty sure my face was morphing into an expression of pure and utter _dread_ while Doug was talking.

Luckily, Jess has a habit of interrupting people, especially when she doesn't want to listen to what they are saying. Normally it's incredibly annoying, of course; you should know since I complain about it all the time – but every dog has its day, and this was it.

"Oh, look," Jess said quickly, pointing across the square. "Joe's is open. We could stop by there and pick up some burgers and take them to your place, Rob."

I had myself pretty under control by the time anyone glanced at me – the ole Wilkins pokerface back in play. The only emotion I let show was a raising of my eyebrows in surprise at Jess's chosen lunch location. "My place?"

"She's the only one of the tapes I haven't spoken to yet," Jess said. There was no need to clarify who 'she' was. "I need to know if she wants to press charges against Randy as well. I gave all the other girls the choice."

I blinked. "You didn't give the cops her tape?"

"Not yet," Jess said. I didn't say anything, or even continue the conversation in that vein, since it was uncomfortable for both of us. Still, that she'd saved the tape… Well, it meant a lot. I was hard pressed to contain the initial impulse to reach out and ruffle her hair.

Instead of doing that, I checked my watch. One twenty-three. "Gwen'll be there to pick her up any minute," I announced. "Guess we could get a burger for her, too. And about eight more on top of that, for Chick."

Before you ask: no. That was not hyperbole. You get used to it.

Doug was still clearly stuck on the first chance he'd had in a year to get Jess and me back together. I swear, he wanted it to happen nearly as much as I did. The disappointment in his voice was palpable, when he said, "Or I guess you could do that instead."

"We will," Jess said sternly, eyeing Doug as if worried he'd suddenly do something like trip one of us into the other one. "Thanks for your help this morning, Douglas. We couldn't have done it without you."

Doug lit up a bit, and grinned at his little sister. "My pleasure. Anything to rid the world of more smut-peddlers and make room for wholesome entertainment like _Sin City_. You two have fun now. Call me later, Jess." With a cheerful salute, Doug wandered off, leaving us alone.

For some time, it wasn't really awkward. Well, not while we got the food at least, though I did have to argue a bit with Jess about paying. In the end I made up for her free family service with a big tip, which I always do anyway. My mom used to work there, so I'd long been in the habit of giving Mastriani waitresses a little extra.

No, the awkwardness only set in on the drive back to my place, which – at least when you're not furious and are instead driving with the ex you never got over – can be pretty long. Eventually, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I picked the least awful topic I could think of, and started talking.

"So. This new nonviolence thing you've got going…" I started. Yes, this _was_ the least awful topic. It was new, so no memories were really associated with it, but also vague enough not to be too personal or catch us up in the details. Hopefully. "I like it."

I could feel Jess's gaze on me, but I didn't look at her. I didn't want to. Now that we were alone – really alone – and I no longer had to worry about where Hannah was, the unresolved issues between Jess and I were really on my mind. Not to mention that restaurant in Storey and everything associated with it, and ever since we reached the cornfields I'd gotten this awful feeling in my gut that just the sight of Jess's face would push me over into idiotic optimism. I really couldn't afford that right now.

Still, even without looking at Jess, it was obvious that she was surprised I approved of her nonviolence methods – I have no clue why, since it was what I'd been advocating all along. Her sarcasm was heavy enough to crush a person, though, when she replied, "Yeah. I bet you do. Since your block was one of the first ones I was going to knock off, as soon as I got the chance."

I resisted a flinch at that (the idea that she wanted to, not that she could – I'm like a foot and a half taller and much stronger than her, and have frequently carried her around when she was being difficult before), but kept on task. "That's not why," I told her. "I just think you're good at thinking up nonviolent solutions to your problems. Like that thing today, back in Whitehead's office. That was genius." And it had been, too.

Jess didn't answer.

"I always told you," I therefore continued, "that the problem with your being so quick with your fists was that someday, someone bigger than you was going to hit you back. And you weren't going to like it too much."

When Jess finally replied, her voice sounded a little weird, despite her light words. It took a lot to resist glancing at her, especially since all else there was to look at was the cornfields and the road. "That never would have happened," she quipped. "I'm too quick. Float like a butterfly – "

"Yeah, well," I interrupted; thinking _Let her have taste of her own medicine, ha! _"I think both Randy Whiteheads would agree that your sting is much worse when you use your head than your right hook. Who's Eric?"

Jess reeled from conversational whiplash for a moment. I had no sympathy. "Who?"

"Eric," I repeated, turning up onto my driveway. "The guy you said you'd tell Mrs. Whitehead about if her husband didn't do what you said."

"Oh," Jess said, suddenly grinning. "Him. Yeah. My dad told me about him. Eric's a waiter at Mastriani's."

"So?" I was still waiting to hear what the big joke was.

"So you know how people who work together get chatting." I nodded. That was how Mom had met Gary in the first place, because he and I had gotten to chatting while fixing cars. I didn't exactly regret that anymore – three years of Mom's expert guilt-tripping had definitely worn me down on that front – but even if I could admit they were stupendously happy together, it still rankled a bit that I had been the cause.

Jess continued, "Eric, my dad says, likes to hang out at a gay bar in Indianapolis."

"Yeah. And?"

"And it turns out," Jess said, grinning even wider, "so does Randy Senior."

I was going to stop since we'd reached the top of the drive anyway, but this news set my foot falling fast enough that the whole car jerked. I turned to stare at Jess, more shocked than I probably should be. But the whole concept was just so… weird. I couldn't picture Whitehead in a gay bar at _all_. "You're kidding me."

"Nope," Jess said, in the process of getting out of the cab. "Eric's Mr. Whitehead's boyfriend. They have their own little love nest together and everything. Except, apparently, Randy Senior would rather his wife not know about it."

Jess grabbed all the food, slammed the car door, and started going up the walk towards the house. I turned off the pickup and got out slowly, still reeling.

Obviously Whitehead _really_ didn't want his wife to know, if he was willing to send his son to jail for the secret. But if he was cheating on her so committedly, why would it even bother him? I could only conclude that he knew she'd divorce him if she knew, or something, and he wanted to keep up appearances. But considering his son had just been arrested for porn distribution, I couldn't see why that was even worth the effort anymore. It wasn't any of my business, and I didn't really care anyway, but the whole thing was just sort of mind boggling. Jess got pretty far ahead of me while I was still stunned by it.

I sped up, and caught up with Jess at the door, where Chick was already greeting her, looking ecstatic. Just as I reached them, he was saying, "Hey, now that you two are back together, maybe you can do something to make this guy stop working so hard and have some fun once in a while." He smacked a hand down on my shoulder, as if to demonstrate exactly which guy he was talking about.

I winced. First Doug, now this… It had entirely slipped my mind to clarify to Chick, during any of our brief phone conversations since I'd been back, that Jess and I weren't together. Of course, I had assumed that the few comments he'd made with much emphasis on our names together, and stuff like that, had just been jokes. I had thought he was going to be like Doug actually was: making embarrassingly heavy hints, but nothing more.

But apparently he'd been laboring under the delusion that Jess and I had made up and were actually a _couple_ again, which was now going to make Jess wonder why I'd told him so. Well, at least the first part might be awkward enough that she didn't even notice the second part of what Jess said. She'd already got an idea of it, but I didn't really want her to linger on exactly how hard I had been working while she was gone.

But for now, I had to correct Chick. "Yeah," I said, staring fixedly at the doorjamb. "Well, Jess came back, but only to help me find Hannah. She'll be heading back to New York soon."

"Oh," Chick said, sounding like I'd just killed his puppy or – more realistically – drunk the last beer. "Well, at least you brought food." He took it, then turned around and went inside.

As awkwardly awful as I was feeling right then, that almost made me laugh. Chick is great.

But before I could do anything, Jess whirled on me. "How do you know?" she challenged. She seemed absolutely livid, but I had no idea why. I'd just corrected Chick, hadn't I?

"How do I know what?" I asked.

"How do you know," Jess spat, looking ready to seriously injure me if she hadn't stopped doing that already, "when I'll be heading back to New York? Maybe I won't be going back to New York. You don't know. You don't know anything about me anymore."

I would have humbly disagreed with that – I thought I knew Jess pretty much as well as I ever had, and her surprising me with sudden anger that I couldn't understand didn't change that. It had happened before – but it didn't seem like a wise move just then. So instead I said, "Okay. Take it easy."

I should have known better. Jess's glare went up a few notches, and she stomped her way inside the house, leaving me staring after her, utterly perplexed.

You know, for a second it almost felt like old times.


	13. Chapter 13

Um. I'm a terrible person, aren't I?

I am really touched that I'm still receiving PMs and reviews about this story. I never forgot about it, but there was some turmoil involving a death in the family, and then I started my first full-time job - which is in childcare, so I'm exhausted frequently. Basically, I kept thinking 'I really ought to get to MYAYMM' but I kept getting sidetracked by RL or other, more immediate ideas. Imagine my surprise when I realized it had been almost nine months. ...Yeesh.

I have now learned not to _dare_ to make anything resembling a promise regarding my updating schedule. I only break them and feel guilty later. But... I'll try and finish quickly.

Now, perhaps this will cheer you all up. On to the barn scene!

* * *

When I followed Jess in, moments later, she was already talking to Hannah, who was standing on the stairs. I was pleased to note that my half-sister was significantly less blotchy and irritable than she'd been before. Oh, she still wasn't meeting my eyes, but at least she was done crying.

Now that Randy had been caught by the somewhat stubby (or else it wouldn't need our help so often) arm of the law round these parts, I found myself much more willing to cut Hannah some slack. Probably because I no longer had to worry that she'd run off to him again, although it might also have been the fact that her mom was coming and she wasn't really my responsibility anymore. I don't mean that in a bad way, just that obviously I wasn't as capable of being a guardian as I'd thought, and it was kind of a relief not to have to worry about screwing up again.

Also I was still feeling kind of guilty about the way I'd been treating her since she came back.

Some unholy combination of these factors was making me really tired of the drama. So when Jess started ushering Hannah upstairs to the VCR in her room, I winced and said, "Jess. Eat first, okay?"

She gave me a flat look. "Oh, Hannah and I are going to eat." Turning back to Hannah, she aimed a finger up the stairs once more. "Go. Now."

Somewhat huffily, Hannah did so. By the time I had returned from the kitchen with plates, Jess had followed. It was a bit annoying that she hadn't at least waited for a plate. Not because I particularly cared about the mess they might make (something told me Hannah still hadn't cleaned her stuff up fully yet, so a few crumbs wouldn't make any difference), but because I'd been intending to take the opportunity to ask Jess to take it easy on Hannah. Come to think of it, that was probably exactly why she'd gone up ahead of me.

I let out an irritated sigh, but didn't bother to follow, instead slumping down in a chair and reaching for the closest burger. Chick plopped down next to me, snatching an entire bag closer to himself. Neither of us bothered with the plates, so getting them at all really had been a useless gesture.

"Sho," Chick mumbled around half a burger (his first bite), then swallowed heavily. My throat felt dry just watching. "What's this about the little lady going back to New York?"

I shrugged. "Nothing much."

Of course he didn't buy that at all, and I hadn't expected him to. I had, however, been hopeful that he'd take the hint and drop the subject. No such luck.

Chick actually set his burger down (on the table, not the plate right in front of him. Thanks, Chick) and looked me in the eye. "So that's it? You're giving up?"

I didn't know exactly what to say. I mean, I obviously would've liked to fervently deny giving up on her, but he did sort of have a point. I wasn't actively trying to get Jess back, even though now would probably be my last opportunity to do so for a long time, if ever. But then again, it wasn't like I was holding back just out of cowardice or something. Jess needed to work through this on her own. Pushing her to get back together with me wasn't going to change anything, just make her mad. I honestly believed that. So, no matter how much I hated it, trying to force Jess to stay or something just was going to backfire, so there was really no point trying.

I thought all that, but didn't say it out loud. Instead, I muttered, "Doesn't 'giving up' imply moving on?"

Chick looked at me seriously for a moment, then snorted and chomped down the rest of his burger. I glanced politely away from the half-masticated cow chunks showing as he spoke, chuckling slightly and probably spilling burger bits on the table: "Guesh I don't 'af to worry then. Don't think you'll ever do that."

I smiled back at him, though it really was much less funny on my end of things. Still, at least that had made Chick drop the conversation, and we ate in silence for a little bit. I finished my burger and threw the wrapper away; Chick was halfway through his second when I heard someone knocking on the door and went to answer it.

It was Gwen. I wasn't really surprised, given that she'd been supposed to arrive sometime around now, but it was still good to see her. We'd never really met in person properly before – the one time we'd seen each-other in person had been when Hannah had us convinced of pretty unpleasant things about the other, and we'd been more focused on Hannah herself at the time, anyway. But, no matter how much a re-introduction might be nice later on, it obviously wasn't the time for that now. Just one look at Gwen Snyder's strained face told me that.

Letting her inside, I turned and yelled up the stairs, "Hannah? Your mom's here."

There was hardly any pause at all before Hannah came tumbling down the stairs, straight into her mother's arms. They both immediately began to cry, saying each-other's names over and over again.

I shut the front door and stood there awkwardly, tapping my fingers against my leg. They kept crying and hugging.

"Uh, do you want –" I finally said, and sort of pointed at the living room. Neither one of them bothered to answer me – though Hannah did shoot me a guilty look and immediately burst out into worse tears, burying her face in Gwen's shoulder. Gwen led her over to the couch, stroking her hair.

I stared after them, unsure what to do. They were crying and that made me want to do… something, but I clearly wasn't needed. I looked to Chick for an idea.

He finished his second burger, burped, then met my eyes. I made an emphatic face at him, gesturing at the living room. In response, he shrugged, pointed at Gwen, then mouthed, 'single?'

I left in disgust, closing the front door quietly behind me, and escaped to my workshop. I'd remodeled the barn into one, though it hadn't really taken as much remodeling as you might expect. We never really had any animals except chickens and the occasional dog anyway, and I'd been storing my bike stuff in there for years already. Still, now that I used it for work on a regular basis, I'd put in new panels on the walls, filled in some holes in the roof, and taken out the horse stalls. I'd also brought in various tools and parts, put a table in the center of the room, and installed a sink against the back wall.

I was at the last, just finishing washing my hands, when Jess walked in. She was pretty quiet, and I didn't hear her at first, but I'd expected her to come say goodbye, so I wasn't surprised when I did hear her say my name.

I turned around, ready to say a relatively casual farewell of my own, bracing myself to see her walk out of my life for the second time. What I had _not_ braced myself for was the sight of the album she held in her arms, and I shut my mouth so fast my teeth clicked together.

Crossing my arms and leaning back against the sink, I tried to affect a disinterested expression, like her discovery meant nothing to me at all. We both knew it was crap.

Jess walked across most of the barn, stopping about five feet away. Far too close for my liking. She lifted the album slightly in her arms, drawing my eyes to it, and said; "I found it in Hannah's room. She… she told me about it before, but I didn't believe her."

I didn't wince, but I wanted to. Why had Hannah left it lying about? Why now? In fact, I couldn't understand why she would've told Jess about it in the first place, and I kind of regretted ever showing it to my sister.

But maybe, if Jess hadn't looked through it too much, I could still salvage this. It was worth a try. "Why wouldn't you believe her?" I asked, like it was no big deal. "Is it so weird I'd want to keep track of what you were doing? It's not like I could ask you. You weren't speaking to me, if you'll recall."

I'd been trying to irritate her with that last sentence – starting an argument had been all too easy lately and I'd actually prefer one to being confronted about the album in Jess's hands – but Jess didn't seem to even notice my rudeness. She glanced down at the album and said, mildly, "Not all of this stuff is from when we weren't speaking."

Crap. She _had_ looked through it. I swallowed thickly, and stuffed my fingers into my pockets before Jess noticed them shaking. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Right now, you're probably wondering just what is so terrifying about a simple album, and why both Jess and I were treating it as something so important. To explain, I have to go way back to the first time I became interested in Jess, before I knew her age. We'd just gone out on our first date, which had been a little weird, what with the side-trip to Paoli to seemingly scare a grade-schooler for no real reason, but otherwise was pretty enjoyable. Then I found out she was only sixteen, drove her off, she got dragged away by the Feds, and I came home to find her on the front page. I hung onto the article, because it was weird and I felt kind of responsible for her being struck by lightning and all.

Then she got into the paper again, and I hung onto that article too, mostly because I'd played an instrumental role in everything that had happened, and it was kind of cool, I guess. Then it just got to be this sort of habit, and before I knew it I had a messy pile of articles all over my desk. My mom must've seen it, because although she never mentioned them to me, she left an empty album on my bed one day: green leather, with a gold-embossed rim. She'd received it as a birthday present years ago, but we've never been one of those families that take ridiculous amounts of photos, so she never had cause to use it. I taped the articles into it just to get them out of the way, and at the time I didn't like Jess enough for the album to mean too much more than just a simple collection of interesting articles regarding the adventures we'd had. At least that's what I told myself.

Even I couldn't deny that it had become something more, though, once I found myself actually searching the articles out – even when they had nothing to do with me and didn't have any actual information on Jess, like this interview with her family from _People_ magazine shortly after the TV show based on her aired. I bribed a photographer at the mall to give me an extra copy of this goof photo Jess had taken on Santa's lap. I added all the pictures of Jess from the Thanksgiving she'd spent with us, and even got one off of Doug when she was overseas (I think he was under the impression I didn't have any other pictures of her, but I didn't exactly correct him). I stuck everything I could possibly find on Jess into that album, and once she broke up with me I often read through it, lingering on the pictures. Actually, I'd spent time with it even before she left, just not as much; but because I'd never been exactly careful about gluing things in, it was easy to tell how much I looked at it.

In short, it was _way_ too revealing about how much I felt for Jess, especially considering I'd never actually told her I was in love with her. Especially since she had broken up with me a long time ago, and especially since she was about to leave again.

Also, it was creepy. Jess probably thought I was some kind of stalker after seeing this, and though everything in the makeshift scrapbook was acquired perfectly legally (except maybe that one taken in the mall; bribery is probably frowned upon), she wouldn't be too far off the mark. The album's contents made _me _uncomfortable with how much I'd collected on her; surely Jess would be even more affected.

So, given all that, you can probably understand why I was freaking out. Still, at least I tried to remain calm and admit the truth of the album, in the end. "All right," I said, shrugging helplessly, "You got me. I tried to get you out of my head – from the day I found out you were so much younger than me, I tried to get you out of my head. But I couldn't. That book's the result. I know it's creepy and weird."

But instead of agreeing with me, Jess quietly said, "I don't think it's creepy."

I kept staring at the book and didn't answer. I didn't really know what to say. After all, I couldn't imagine why she _wouldn't_ think it was creepy – aside from reasons that had to do with her suddenly loving me again, because persistent as that thought was, I doubted it was in any way realistic.

When it became obvious I wasn't responding any time soon, Jess continued. "I don't think it's weird, either. Well. Maybe a little weird. I never thought you liked me that much."

I glanced up at her when she said that, and had to respond. She thought I 'didn't like her that much'? Granted, I'd tried to make it seem that way, but I had always been under the impression that I was completely obvious anyway. I mean, just look at the stuff I did for her. Apparently I was a better actor than I knew… not that it really mattered now. "What was I supposed to do?" I asked with another shrug. "You knew I was on probation. And you were underage. And the way your mom obviously felt about me – I couldn't risk it. It seemed better just to stay away from you until you turned eighteen."

Jess had this wry little smile playing about her lips as she added, "But you couldn't wait."

I think it was the smile that did it. She said that I couldn't wait like it was an accepted fact; I didn't like that, but I could handle it, because to Jess it was. But she also smiled while doing so, like it didn't even matter that much to her anymore. Like she didn't even care or stop to reconsider her opinion after finding the scrapbook. Like I was ceasing to matter to her at all.

So I snapped.

"What do you mean, I couldn't wait?" I asked forcefully, yanking my hands out of my pockets and taking a step forward. "What do you think – Jesus, Jess! I totally waited. I'm _still_ waiting."

Jess's voice was weak and startled when she replied, and somehow that only pissed me off even more: "But… that girl –"

"Christ. Not that again." I practically spit the words out, suddenly furious. I wasn't quite seeing red like I had been with Randy, but it was a near thing. Jess's reaction to the album had tipped me over my breaking point, and I had no patience for her issues anymore. I just needed her to _believe me already_. "I told you. Nancy's a customer. She _always_ kisses the mechanics. She was excited about –"

"–you fixing her carburetor," Jess finished for me dully. It was killing me how little she seemed to be affected by any of this, when I had completely lost my cool and didn't even care anymore. "You said that."

"Damned right I said that. Because it was the truth. And if you'd stuck around, instead of running off, I'd have shown you –"

I cut myself off there. As angry as I was, I couldn't just blurt everything out without hesitating. I'd tried so hard to act like Jess hadn't completely devastated me when she left, to pretend she'd never come to mean everything to me, to hide just what I'd _done_ for her, and if I finished that sentence I'd reveal everything.

But I'd come too far now to shut up now, so when Jess asked, "Shown me what?" I answered.

"_This_," I said, flinging my arms out to indicate – everything really. My entire life. "All of this. The house, the garage… the fact that I was going to school. Jesus, Jess. Why do you think I did all this? I mean, yeah, part of it was for me. But a big part of it was to prove to your parents – your mother, at least – that I wasn't just some bum who was just after her daughter's virginity – or worse, looking to ride on your coattails. I did it so she'd let you go out with me. So she'd realize I'm not a worthless Grit."

Jess didn't look unaffected any more. Her eyes shone with tears, and her voice caught when she said, "You… You did all of that… for me?"

Now that I'd reached this point, I couldn't stop talking. I couldn't shut up. I had to tell her everything, let her know just how utterly stupid I'd been, maybe in the hopes that she'd realize how stupid she'd been, too. I don't know. I can't remember thinking anything, actually; everything in the world had narrowed down to Jess right then, and my head was filled with this rushing sort of need to speak. There wasn't any _room_ for thought; I just kept talking. "I was so excited when I found out you were coming back. Ask anyone. I knew you had lost your powers – everyone knew that. But I never thought – hell, I thought you'd be _happy_ about that. No more press bugging you. No more working for the government. And you were finally eighteen… I thought we were golden, at last. I had this whole thing planned. I was going to show you the shop and the house and take you to that restaurant Doug was talking about today – the one in Storey – and propose."

Jess's eyes widened, and I almost laughed. Not that it was amusing. No, this wasn't funny at all. "Yeah," I said, "I know it sounds ridiculous now. But that's how far gone I was. I was going to give you this –"

I fumbled into one of my pockets and yanked out the diamond ring I'd taken to carrying around ever since I saw Jess again. I don't know why I'd started. It wasn't like I'd been planning on using it anymore, but I just couldn't stop myself. But it came in handy now, for demonstration purposes, anyway. I flung it at Jess, furiously.

"I was my grandmother's," I told her. "I know it's crazy. But I thought if your parents saw how serious I was about you, and they were okay with it, we could get married after college, or something. But instead, you showed up out of the blue, and saw something you didn't understand, and wouldn't listen to me, no matter how hard I tried to get you to. Then you just up and left town. And I realized…"

I'd slowly trailed off there, already starting to calm down from my outburst, and Jess took advantage of the pause to finish my sentence for me. Only, just like she had been about me ever since she came back from the war, her interpretation of things was completely wrong. Utterly. "That you didn't love me anymore?" she asked in a hard voice.

I nearly smiled at her. My fury was winding down to nothing now, because she was such an _idiot_, and I was so far gone, even now. "No," I said quietly, "I already told you. That you were broken. That you needed – well, nothing _I_ could give you, anyway."

Jess backed up, and set the scrapbook down on the table next to my current project, a 1975 Harley XLCH. "I didn't know what I needed," she almost whispered. "Back then."

"Do you now?" I asked, meeting her eyes. "Can you look me in the eye, Jess, and tell me that you finally know what you need? Or even want?"

I knew her answer already; I'd known it for a long time. I knew she couldn't tell me anything – I _knew_ that. But it still hit me like a punch to the gut when she remained silent.

"I didn't think so," I said, looking away. Turning away too, facing the sink and gripping onto the metal edge of the basin, shoulders tight. I needed her to leave, right now. I couldn't do this anymore, and I had absolutely no desire to hear anything Jess might be thinking of saying to me. If she even could.

So of _course_, she chose that moment to stop, turn around, and say, "Rob."

I swallowed hard, staring at the wood grain in front of me. "What?"

"What did you do, anyway," she asked, completely out of nowhere and completely inappropriate and _completely_ Jess, "to get put on probation like that?"

Had I not been so utterly drained emotionally, I would have either laughed or flung something when she said this. As things were, I just hung my head and wondered why I was even surprised. "You want to know that _now?_"

"Yeah, I do," Jess said.

"It was really stupid," I told the sink. But while the appliance may have been willing to accept that answer, Jess was not.

"Just tell me," she said, sort of wearily. "After all this time, I think I deserve to know."

I didn't want to tell her. It felt like that was the only thing left holding us together – she'd never let me alone, never stopped bugging me about what I'd done. And of course the truth was humiliating enough that I never planned on telling her, even though I knew my adamant refusals (as well as the impression she'd gained early on that I was the kind of guy who blew up helicopters on the weekend) were only leading her to imagine some crazy death-defying stunt. In one way, that was the first ever connection we had, and if I told her now why I'd been on parole, then I'd be cutting my last remaining tie to Jess. I really didn't want to do that.

But, hell, I'd just told her about _proposing_, about all my plans – and she didn't have any answer at all, any clue even of how much she meant to me (if she could ever think that I was just going to _stop loving her_-)… How much more 'severed' could a relationship get?

"Trespassing," I told her, then. I was too deadened to even feel humiliated by what was honestly one of my most embarrassing stories. "A bunch of guys and I thought it would be funny to climb the fence to the public pool and go for a midnight swim. The officers who showed up to arrest us didn't think it was all that funny, though."

There was a long silence. I could feel Jess staring at me, but I didn't move. I waited until I heard her turn and walk the rest of the way out of the barn. I waited until I heard Chick's truck starting up and driving away. And even then, I kept waiting. I didn't know what I was waiting _for_ – maybe to be able to breathe clearly again. Or to open my eyes without feeling them stinging and blurring painfully.

But it didn't feel like either of things was ever going to happen. I clenched on ever tighter to the metal sink, and let my head fall forward against the wall. And I waited.

I didn't ever want to stop waiting. I didn't want to move and discover what life without Jess, without even a faint hope of her ever returning, was like._  
_


	14. Chapter 14

Wow. It sure feels weird realizing there's only one more chapter to go. Exciting, but, a bit sad.

I did not include any descriptions in this chapter that would change the rating to M. I know some people hoped I would, but I never intended to do so from the start. It doesn't suit Rob's character, and I frankly don't enjoy writing smut.

* * *

Of course, I couldn't exactly stay there forever. Time wasn't going to stop just for the sake of my romantic angst, and I had other responsibilities to take care of. Still, I stood there in silence for at least fifteen minutes, barely breathing, trying my hardest not to think.

Then I took a deep breath, stood up straight, and turned on the sink. I splashed water on my face a few times, and wiped myself dry with a stray cloth. If I'd been alone at home, I would have then spent the rest of the night working on the Harley awaiting my attention, but there was still Hannah and Gwen to deal with. I hadn't heard them leave, and hopefully at this point they'd stopped crying – it had been almost an hour since Gwen had arrived, after all. I knew from experience that Hannah had some pretty impressive tear ducts, but they had to run out at some point.

Even so, I was cautious entering the house, listening hard for any stray sniffling. All was quiet, though, and in fact Gwen was alone when I entered the living room. I experienced a brief moment of panic – Hannah was _gone_ – but Gwen looked far too calm for that, so I relaxed and sat down where she was patting the couch next to her.

Gwen nodded her head at the ceiling. "Hannah's packing," she said quietly.

I sort of chuckled and sighed at the same time. "I told her to do that last night… But then, I don't think she's been listening to me much." This seemed as good a moment as any, and after a momentary pause, I said, "I'm so sorry for everything that's happened. I – I let your daughter get into this sort of mess, and I can't ever apologize enough."

To be perfectly honest, I half-expected Gwen to smack me or something at this point. We'd hated each-other at first, and although that had been because of Hannah's lies, Gwen's next impression of me had been that awful phone call in which I told her that her daughter had gone missing and I couldn't find her. There had been a lot of screaming, and some pretty impressive threats. So, even though we'd started to work together after a few days, and I'm sure she was glad I'd helped find Hannah in the end, I wasn't exactly expecting any friendly overtures from Gwen. This was a shame, as she was actually a pretty cool person, but I thought it was just something I was going to have to deal with.

In point of fact, it was not. Gwen didn't hit me, or yell, or even glare. Instead, she smiled warmly and even patted my hand.

"It's not your fault, Rob," she said in a quiet voice, "so don't blame yourself. If anything, I failed as a mother, being too caught-up in my love life to realize the kind of danger my girl was getting into." Her eyes welled up, and she snatched another tissue from the box on the coffee table in front of her. About twenty crumpled ones already littered the table.

I waited awkwardly while she blew her nose, dabbed at her eyes, and tossed the tissue on the table with the rest. When she finished this routine, Gwen looked back at me. This time there was no trace of a smile on her face, only a cold, steely expression. "But I'm not going to make that mistake again. As soon as Hannah finishes packing, we're going to go down to the station, and do out part to help put that jerk away for the rest of his life."

The word she used was not actually 'jerk'.

I nodded, and told her I'd do all I could to help. What this ended up amounting to wasn't actually all that much – I put Hannah's bags in the car for her, and then followed along to the police station on my motorcycle.

Once we had arrived, I went through the familiar process of waiting, waiting, waiting, answering a lot of repetitive questions, waiting some more, writing down my statement and signing it, waiting again, then being dismissed and going out to pace in the front room and wait a lot longer for my companions to finish their much lengthier testimonies.

Not for the first time, I found myself kind of missing Johnson. He would have annoyed me, but it was kind of amusing to see him get more and more irritated as I continued to answer his questions without giving him the answers he wanted. It was almost a game between us for a while, in which he would try to get me to admit to blowing up his car (I think at this point it was more out of stubbornness than any real attachment to the vehicle), and I would 'innocently' evade his queries. Of course, I actually _was _innocent of that particular crime, but Johnson was determined not to believe that.

To this day, on the Christmas card I got from the Special Agents each year, while Special Agent Smith's note would be along the lines of 'happy holidays' or 'hope you're doing well', Johnson always wrote something like 'confession is good for the soul' or 'stay on the straight & narrow'. In return, the one I sent him usually had, instead of a Christmas-related image, a picture of a car on the front. Just to mess with him.

He would be a pleasant distraction right now. As it was, the best I could do was pace quickly back and forth, and concentrate on waiting for Hannah to finish telling her side of the story. Otherwise I stood a very good chance of sinking back into the deep melancholy my conversation – argument – with Jess had created.

Luckily I was by this point very practiced in pacing and waiting, so the next million hours or so I spent in the police station weren't too much of a challenge. And in the end, the wait actually paid off – which wasn't something I was used to. Of course, in the long run, I expected a big payoff from this – Randy Whitehead was going to suffer from Hannah's testimony, and anything that would put him in jail a bit longer was something I was willing to support. I was even thinking of paying my dad a visit to let him know the particulars of Randy's reason to be there. Not that a guy like Randy would do well in prison anyway, but he'd messed with my little sister. I had no mercy for him.

I hadn't expected any immediate benefits to come from just sitting around in the police station like always, though. But I got one – a pretty significant one, a benefit that went a long way toward making me feel better about… well, about what a mess I'd made of everything.

After she'd finished talking to the police, Hannah came out to the waiting room, and immediately launched herself into my arms in a tight hug. Baffled at the sudden change in attitude, but more than willing to accept it, I hugged her back.

"Rob," she said after pulling away, already starting to sniffle. "I… I'm so sorry! I should've listened to you, but – I'm so stupid!"

She launched forward into another hug, this one serving the dual purpose of allowing her to convey to me just how guilty she felt, and also letting her discreetly wipe her drippy nose on my shirt. I winced, but didn't pull away.

For a long time we just stood there, hugging each other. Finally, we stepped back at the same time. Hannah tried to apologize again, but I just smiled at her. "I think we both did some pretty stupid things. But it's okay now. Maybe we should just… leave it at that."

Hannah seemed very touched by this statement. "Y-yeah," she mumbled, voice wavering, and blew her nose honkingly into a tissue she produced out of her pocket. I wondered where that had been when she'd been wiping snot on my shirt just a minute ago. "Crap!" she mumbled, "I'm so sick of crying!"

"Me too," I replied honestly, and she rolled her eyes. I grinned a little at that, and she grinned back, and for a moment it was like the whole Randy business had never happened and we were sitting on my living room floor eating chips and rereading all my old Spiderman comics. Like we were just… having fun, brother and sister.

Then Gwen cleared her throat, and we both jumped back into the present, belatedly realizing that we'd played that whole little interaction out in front of a rather bemused officer at the desk.

Gwen and Hannah left pretty quick after that, to be honest. We actually parted ways in the police station parking lot; they were pretty eager to get back home, I guess. But that was okay. Gwen didn't hate me, _Hannah_ didn't hate me and actually had promised to call me every couple of days to talk, starting tomorrow. And of course, Randy Whitehead Junior was going to be spending a lot of time behind bars.

All in all, things were looking pretty good – or, well, they would have been, if it weren't for Jess. Not that I'm _blaming_ her, exactly. Just like I'd said to Hannah – both of us had made mistakes.

But the problem with Jess was, unlike Hannah, she didn't exactly care to mend her relationship with me. She probably didn't know _what_ she wanted right now… but after the episode in the barn, I had a sinking surety that whatever it was no longer involved me. After all, her reaction to my – I guess you could call it a proposal, though it was equally an argument – was anything but pleased. More like horrified.

Thoughts like these quickly brought back my bad mood, and I tried my best to shove them away by returning to the barn and working on the Harley waiting there. It helped a little, but not much.

I eventually quit trying when I caught myself staring vacantly at the barn doors for the fifth time in as many minutes, as though hoping Jess would waltz right back in and declare her undying love for me (yeah, right). In the state I was in, I wasn't getting much done, and I knew it.

But I didn't stop trying to distract myself. Okay, so work wasn't cutting it – next I tried schoolwork. Unfortunately, as the fall semester hadn't started yet, that particular attempt didn't last much longer than me checking once again to see if the course books had been announced, seeing that they had not, and giving up. Fine. Next I turned to literature and TV.

But I'd already read all of the old spy books in the house, and while normally I didn't mind rereading them, today I couldn't focus my attention at all. That went for television as well. I didn't _want_ to just sit around and mope, honestly I didn't. Stuff like that is pretty repugnant to me, actually. It's just that… I couldn't focus on much of anything else than the sound of Jess's feet, walking permanently out of my life.

Finally I gave up, and just went out for a drive on my Indian. Whizzing along the concrete, wind rushing loudly past my helmet, I was actually able to let go of my melancholy thoughts. For a short while, anyway, but it was better than nothing; and I stayed out driving until after the sun had set.

After arriving home, I ate dinner, and headed off to the shower, intending to go straight to bed. To be honest, I also really wanted a drink (or lots of drinks), but somehow alcohol didn't seem like the most responsible answer right now. Also, I didn't have any in the house (not when Hannah was visiting, and I never had much more than a few beers in the fridge anyway), and I definitely was not in the mood to head down to Chick's and deal with his prying. Even if it _was_ more likely to be about Gwen's availability than about Jess and I, based on his behavior earlier today.

So I intended just to go to sleep. Maybe then I'd be able to just stop _thinking_ about Jess, just for a couple of hours. But halfway through washing my hair, I was struck with a sudden, horrified thought – the _ring_.

The engagement ring. My grandmother's ring. The ring my mom had entrusted to me to keep safe. The ring I had thrown at Jess in a fit of pique earlier, which I had just left _lying_ there for hours afterward.

Quickly, I finished my shower and threw on a t-shirt and some jeans, then rushed down to the garage to look for it. And look for it. And look for it. And kick the wall in frustration, and then look some more, because I couldn't find it _anywhere_.

Seriously. It just wasn't there. I searched every single corner of that damn place. I turned on every light, and even got out a flashlight to shine into every tiny little crack that a ring might possibly fit into. Heck, I even double-checked all the motorcycles, to see if the ring had somehow gotten caught on one somehow. I was on the verge of checking the drain for the sink, despite there being no _possible_ way the ring could have ended up there, given the direction I'd thrown it.

Because really, the direction I'd thrown it was at _Jess_. Behind her was just a lot of floor, which meant that if it wasn't sitting on the floor – if it hadn't been kicked to the side or under a bike or something, which I now knew it definitely _had not – _then there was only one place the ring could be.

Jess had it.

I had no clue why. None. I hadn't even known that Jess had caught the ring when I'd thrown it at her, but she obviously must have. Still, her good reflexes might explain her catching the ring, but not _keeping_ it. Why hadn't she just left if behind? I couldn't think of a good reason why she'd held on to it.

No, all I could think – in a terrifying, disbelieving daze – was that maybe she had kept it because she still felt –

I couldn't put words to it. Not even in my own mind. I think doing so would have felt like giving up on all my restraint and putting all my hope into believing such a crazy idea, even though I was convinced logically that there was no way that was the real reason. After all, just a few hours ago, Jess had quite clearly shown that she never wanted anything of the sort from me ever again.

But, logically, there was also no other reason for her to keep the ring. It didn't make any _sense_ – and yeah, Jess rarely if ever made sense to me, but even so, I couldn't just explain away the ring's disappearance to myself that easily. I couldn't explain it away at all.

After doing this for some time, pacing violently about the barn, I was driving myself insane. I couldn't just stand around trying to think something like this out – that was impossible, given the warring hope and depression in my head.

And… well, it was an _engagement ring_ after all. A family heirloom, to boot. Such an expensive, important thing – I was hardly out of my rights to attempt to discover what had happened to it, right? And to, maybe, finally just get a straight _answer_ out of Jess, a flat-out rejection that could finally crush that last painful bit of hope I still harbored. Or maybe, rather than crushing that hope, she would prove it true…

I was hopeless.

So hopeless, I couldn't even wait until morning. I just hopped on my Indian and drove right to her house. Standing in the yard, throwing pebbles up at Jess's window, I felt several years younger all of a sudden, disconcertingly so. Hopefully she would wake up before anyone else did.

I grabbed up a second handful of stones, and was just about to toss them up at Jess's window again, when it opened and she popped her head out. "Hold on," she hissed down at me. "I'll be right down."

Then she disappeared from sight and the window closed again. I walked around to the front porch in a sort of daze. Even though I knew, I _knew_ I couldn't possibly be right about why she'd kept the ring, I couldn't help but hope. I also couldn't seem to breathe right, and my heart was running a million miles an hour by the time she finally slipped outside and closed the door behind her.

Jess seemed to have been sleeping – no surprise considering it was after one in the morning – and was dressed in a simple robe over what looked like a shirt and some boxers. The clothing was quintessentially _her_, and I swallowed a lump in my throat.

"Hey," I said, unable to erase the question from my voice. What I really meant was more along the lines of _hey, don't you have any idea of what you're doing to me?_

Jess didn't seem to notice, too busy being quietly indignant. "They have this new invention now. It's called cell phones. You can call people now in the middle of the night, if you need to, instead of throwing rocks at their windows."

It had never even occurred to me to call Jess. But, even if it had… "You never gave me your phone number."

"Oh," Jess said, face reddening slightly. Then, a moment later, it began to grow very pale, and she shifted in place a little bit, before continuing, "Are you missing something? Something else, besides your sister, I mean? Is that why you're here?"

She definitely had the ring. She _definitely_ had it, and the little corner of my brain that was afraid it had gotten permanently lost somehow finally relaxed. But at the same time, the rest of me went on hyper-alert. I felt almost dizzy with the rush of expectant adrenaline.

But when I spoke, my voice was steady. "My sister left this afternoon. With her mother. After stopping off at the police station for about a trillion hours. Hannah's not what I'm missing."

Jess didn't look surprised in the least. She lifted up her left arm – and there it was, sparkling on her finger. On the ring finger, even. I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight.

"You have it?" I asked through lips that felt numb. "God, I thought I was going crazy. I was looking everywhere."

"You couldn't wait until morning?" Jess asked me. "You had to come get it now, in the middle of the night?"

Words couldn't possibly describe just how much the answer to that question was _**yes**__, I did have to come get it now_, how much I couldn't possibly wait for morning; so I didn't try.

Instead I said, "I didn't realize you must have taken it until a little while ago. And then I –"

I stopped. I couldn't say anything more. Jess was just standing there in her pajamas and cotton robe, _staring _at me, still holding up her left hand which bore the engagement ring I'd flung at her earlier. God. How could she possibly not realize what she was _doing _to me?

"You what?" she asked, proving that somehow, she really was just that oblivious to the effect she had on me. I shrugged.

"I had to know if you took it. Well, not so much _if_. More like… _why_."

Jess took a step closer to me, and tilted her chin up to meet my eyes – as much as she would've been able to in the shadows of the porch, anyway. The moon was lighting her face up as brightly as if it had been daytime, and the expression she wore nearly undid me right there.

"I don't know what to think," I said, with the air of a man who is about to put it all on the line because he has nothing left to loose, even though he knows he's losing his marbles. "The whole way here, I was thinking I was crazy. I mean, why _would_ you take it? Unless…"

As if magnetized to her, I couldn't help but take a step closer to Jess. She was so close to me now. Just a few more steps away, with her eyes and the diamond ring glittering in the moonlight. If I was wrong about this… there would no recovery.

"Jess," I said cautiously. "What are you doing? Seriously."

"Seriously?" Jess repeated. She shook her head. "I really don't know. But you're like the hundredth person to ask me that today. Do you want it back?"

I couldn't think at all. Jess had finally managed to break my brain. "If you're not gonna marry me," I said, too out of it to even care that I was proposing again, and just as badly as the first time earlier today, "then, yeah, I want it back."

Jess's voice was tight and strange when she next spoke. "What if I am?"

"Am what?" I asked. But I knew what she was getting back. How could I not? I knew _exactly_ what Jess meant, and yet at the same time I didn't understand at all.

I took another step forward, fully into the moonlight, and struggled for several seconds to speak. "Jess," I said warningly, and thought, _don't do this_. _I couldn't stand it if you did this only to leave_.

My warning didn't mean anything to her, of course. When had my warnings ever? Instead of heed my tone of voice, Jess just took a deep, deep breath.

Then she reached out, grabbed my shirt, and yanked me forward two stumbling steps, until we were right in front of each other. I could feel her body heat in the chilly night air. Her face was mere inches under my own.

Her lips were moving. "Rob," Jess said. "Will you marry me?"

I don't know how to say this – the world whited out. It all just cut off, _everything_, in a sudden jolt that left me incredulous and reeling and unable to think, breathe, move.

"You are insane," I told Jess, quite simply.

"I mean it," she insisted, still clinging to my shirt. She seemed… almost out of control, in a crazy, relieved sort of way. As if she couldn't believe the words that had just come out of her mouth and yet, knew they were all the absolute truth. "I've been an idiot. I had a lot of crap to deal with. And I think I'm done dealing with it now. Almost all of it, anyway. Obviously I still have to finish school – and so do you – and all of that. But when we're done with school, I think we should do it."

Jess probably didn't notice, but she was talking as though our relationship resuming was completely natural and inevitable. And I really wished it _was_; but in the numb daze that had descended over me, I found myself suddenly thinking of problem after problem that could get in the way.

I wanted this. I wanted it more than anything, so much so that I could scarcely believe I hadn't agreed yet. But there was something holding me back – from smiling, from agreeing, from reaching out and pulling her to me and kissing her until the rest of the world dropped away – and that was fear. I was afraid that if I agreed now, and anything happened later, _anything_, that could take this away… Well, I was afraid I'd just shatter completely.

I wouldn't be able to take Jess leaving me another time. I'd been such a mess the first time around, and now the stakes were so much higher. I just couldn't risk it.

So I kept my face very serious, and my voice calm, and I didn't do any of the things I wanted so desperately to do. I said, "What about your mom?"

"In case you haven't noticed," Jess pointed out, "I'm over eighteen. Besides, she'll come around. So, are you in?"

That was what did it for me, in the end. Only Jess would ever say that. Only Jess would ever propose to her ex-boyfriend after a year spent apart, by stealing his grandmother's engagement ring and standing on her front porch in the moonlight and saying, 'are you in?'

I found myself saying, "I'm in," before I could even think. All doubt had evaporated in that moment. All doubt, and all my other negative emotions too; everything had vanished totally, but for the sheer _explosion_ of Jess – she just leapt at me, flinging her arms around my neck and kissing me, and the world was just completely blotted out.

But then she grabbed onto my shirt again and moved backward, tugging me after. I moved with her, grinning widely. I couldn't contain my grin at all, no more than I could think straight. "Jess," I asked, on the verge of laughing hysterically with pure _joy_. "What are you doing?"

"Shhhh," Jess hissed, and tugged again. She was grinning too. "Follow me. And be quiet or you'll wake them."

I let her drag me in as far as the entryway before I dug in my heels, though not with a great deal of force, I'll admit. "Jess," I whispered, as she shut the front door behind us with a quiet _click _and Chigger came over from the couch to give me a few brief licks in greeting. "Come on. This isn't right."

I doubt my words held much weight, given how I hardly even cared about them myself, and was probably still grinning, and just wanted to be holding Jess again – and probably they didn't.

Because Jess just said, "No one'll ever know," and came forward to hold my hand and tug me towards the stairs. "You can sneak out before they wake up. Besides, it's all right." She pulled forward, and I followed all too willingly, my entire being alight at the next words out of her mouth: "We're _engaged_."

Jess pulled me all the way upstairs, and into her room. It was the first time I'd ever been there, but I didn't take much time to look around, not when I could instead shut the door with a foot and hold her in my arms and kiss her and –

Well. The rest is really none of your business.


End file.
